Never Been Kissed Like That
by moonless-me
Summary: Have you ever been given a breathtakingly, wonderful, incredible kiss? Well, certainly Hermione had, and by the unlikeliest person. Five years later she tell the story for the first time, and encounters with that person once again. DHr
1. Default Chapter

NEVER BEEN KISSED LIKE THAT  
  
Chapter one:  
"Telling for the First Time"  
  
Hermione hurried through the crowded streets of London, her waist-long cinnamon curls billowing behind her. As usual, she had lost track of time behind a pile of books in the National Wizarding Library, but nothing could keep her from getting to meet Harry and Ron.  
  
The chilly air of November cut into her cheeks, and she pushed closer the shawl she was wearing over the long coat. It had been a present from Harry for her twenty third birthday. After graduating from Hogwarts, and now Voldemort was no longer a threat, they had decided to meet at The Leaky Cauldron once every month, where they would chat and drink till late. Since they had followed different paths, there were rare opportunities for them all to be together and keep up with their friendship.  
  
The old tavern doors creaked as Hermione pushed them open, the warmth of the rusty pub surrounded her. She directed to their usual table, only to find a dark haired boy already there.  
  
Those last years were quite hard for Harry. He was no more The Boy Who Lived, but as the Daily Prophet had renamed him, The Man Who Defeated the Dark Lord. This, to Harry's opinion, was much, much worse. Defeating Voldemort was the hardest thing he had dealt with, but after that he expected his life to be easy and peaceful. Much to his disturbance, his popularity had grown to unexpected rates. Being under the public eye constantly had made of the young man quite a reserved character, and he had very little friends apart from Ron and Hermione. He had not yet learnt how to cope with the standards people had set on him. Devoted to the Auror work he had at the Ministry, more than once he was urged to go into politics, but he never felt comfortable with the idea.  
  
"Mr Potter, Mr Potter, can you sign my picture of the Coolest Wizard Alive?" said Hermione mockingly, handing Harry a copy of The Wizard, a prestigious magazine which had recently elected him as 'The Wizard of the Year.'  
  
"That's not funny, Hermione," frowned Harry. "Thanks to this stupid award I have half of the wizarding press stalking me again!"  
  
"I know Harry, I was just teasing you a bit." She approached her friend and hugged him. "It's been an awful lot of time," she sighed, still hugging him. "Has Ron arrived?"  
  
"Not yet. He owled me this afternoon, he'll be coming later. He had to take Sam and Erik to the Burrow." He motioned Hermione to sit facing him and gave her a mischievous smile. "Luna hasn't come back yet from Romania, you know, and I wonder how he managed to survive with those children of his."  
  
"Uhg, poor Ron," Hermione said sympathetically. "I bet he never imagined he'd live to become the father of a smaller version of Fred and George. Believe me, those twins are..."  
  
"Yeah, I know." With a swift movement he pulled up his sleeve, revealing a red mark that resembled very much the outline of a child's teeth. "I had the pleasure to meet them."  
  
"I see," she smiled back at him. "So, how are you? How's work at the ministry?"  
  
"You know, fighting evil in every corner, getting the girl and all that hero stuff."  
  
Hermione rolled her eyes.  
  
"Now, actually, the most dangerous thing I've done this week was to eat a pumpkin pasty out of date," he shuddered. "And how's your comittee?"  
  
"Uhm, we're working very hard, you know."  
  
"Form what I heard inside the Ministry, you're giving Fudge a hard time. It seems he cannot do anything without the permission of the Y.M.C.A." Harry mocked the movements of the acronym in the air as if he was dancing a Village People song, to Hermione's annoyance.  
  
"I told you it's not Y.M.C.A., but W.M.C.A." Hermione was very sensitive about her work, and hated people to make fun of it. "Welfare for all Magical Creatures Association. And yes, our pressure against segregating measures is taking an effect inside the Misnistry, and if we keep this way," she said, with a triumphant gleam in the eye, "we'll also manage to gain some representation in the Wizengamot."  
  
"And next, take over the world! Ron is right, sometimes you are scary." Hermione punched him on the arm playfully.  
  
"Anyway, we love you the same," a deep voice intruded their conversation. A very tall boy in his early twenties stood next to the table, a wide grin spread on his freckled face, his hair flaming red.  
  
"Ron!" Hermione and Harry exclaimed in unison.  
  
"How are you? How's Luna and the twins? It's been ages since I last saw you. Ginny told me you were moving to a new house, did she told you I had lunch with her last week?"  
  
Ron took a seat next to Harry and held up a hand for Hermione to stop her bombardment of questions. He was glad to be part of the trio again. Due to his job as Keeper for the Chudley Cannons, he spent most of the year travelling all over the world. These meetings at the Leaky Cauldron, apart from gathering the friends, were also a bit of an escape and relaxing to him. Now he had some holiday till the end of December, and all he wanted was to be with his wife and children and share some time with Harry and Hermione.  
  
"I've missed you too, 'Mione." He directed Harry a knowing glance. "Well, now to your first question, I'm fine, but a bit tired. Luna's perfectly fine, and the twins, you know, they take after their uncles. Yes, I saw Ginny and she told me you had met. And yes, I'm finished moving and I hope you both come to pay a visit shortly. Did I miss anything?"  
  
Hermione reached for the hands of her two best friends and grinned broadly. "I've missed you too."  
  
Three butterbeers, two bottles of wine and four or five firewhiskey later, the trio sat at the same table chatting animatedly. Harry was telling them the story of a witch he had met once on the Knight Bus on his way to London.  
  
"So she kept going on how really interesting were the new seats designed for the new Knight Bus, and I was really having a bad time trying to make her notice her mistake. But she kept on rambling about the design of the seats, taking hold of the chair of a woman sat next to us. She held on to it, admiring its sophisticated line." Harry was choking on his wine with laughter.  
  
"Then, I finally had to say something, because she was really embarrasing herself, and mouthed 'it IS a WEELCHAIR' while at the same time I pointed at the seat she was taking hold of."  
  
"No!" cried Hermione. "She must have noticed."  
  
"Never, and that was the funny part. She seemed as if she wanted the earth to part and eat her up. She was the most obtuse witch I've ever met, really. Thank Merlin the handicapped woman was fast sleep at the time."  
  
The three friends laughed heartlily at Harry's story. Ron called up the waiter and ordered more drinks.  
  
"Oops, Ron, I don't think I should drink anything more." Hermione already felt a bit typsy. "One more drink and I will be telling you my darkest secrets," she laughed.  
  
"Oh, don't spoil the fun, 'Mione. That is exactly what I hoped for." He arched his brows suggestively. Turning to Harry, he asked, "Speaking of dark secrets... how's the love life of the Wizard of the Year?"  
  
"Ron, you too! Besides, what love life? I can't even remember the last time I went on a date!"  
  
"I thought you were dating that brunette from the Mysteries department."  
  
"Sandy," Harry furrowed his brows in false deep thinking, "or was it Sally? Anyway, she was not my type."  
  
"What about Cho? You've been in and out of of it for a long time."  
  
Harry's face changed and his smile faded. "Yeah, well, ours is a love-hate relationship. I don't think we're... uhm, compatible. Great times are great, but bad ones are just... worse."  
  
"I'm sorry Harry, I didn't know." Hermione touched his arm.  
  
"Oh, it's all right. I just sometimes miss her," he smiled weakly. "She's an amazing kisser, you know. The kind of kiss that could brighten up your day."  
  
"Yeah," Ron continued, "those are the real ones, those you never forget." Both Harry and Hermione assented at this statement.  
  
Ron eyed her curiously. "You can't be possibly talking about Neville?"  
  
"Oh, please shut up!" She threw some peanuts at Ron and blushed. "Of course I won't forget that, it was the most embarrasing moment of all my life!"  
  
"It was, what, three yeas ago, during that New Year's Eve party at Lupin's. Neville finally held all the courage he was capable of..."  
  
"He was drunk, Ron, drunk."  
  
"Yeah, whatever. So he gripped you by the waist and in a jiffy his mouth was all over you. You were so shocked," he laughed, "I thought you'd have collapsed if he hadn't faint..."  
  
Hermione was turning crimson now. "He was really sorry afterwards, you know. Neville is such a nice guy, but I could never see him like that. I only wish he had expressed his feelings in any other way. Honestly!"  
  
They all laughed at Hermione's expression.  
  
"Uhm, if there's a kiss I'll never forget, that's the one Fleur Delacour gave me during the Triwizarding Tournament," said Ron dreamily.  
  
"Ron, you're a married man!" Hermions reprimanded him.  
  
"I didn't say it was the best, but one I'll never forget. If you ask me, the best, real one kiss was Luna's, when I proposed... and you know the rest."  
  
"Now, 'Mione, what about you? I was just joking about Neville, you know."  
  
"Uh-hum, I'm not telling you."  
  
"But we have already told you, it's only fair."  
  
"Who was it?"  
  
Hermione shied away. "I'm going to order some more drinks."  
  
"Oh, no, you are not going anywhere. Spit it out." Harry blocked her way out of the table.  
  
"Okay, but first you have to hear the whole story."  
  
"I'm just willing to," Ron grinned wickedly.  
  
"Without interruptions."  
  
"Promise."  
  
"And then don't go mad at me."  
  
"Why should we get mad at you? Unless you kissed Percy, or any of the twins. You didn't, did you?"  
  
"Oh Ron, just shut up and let her talk."  
  
"Okay, it was during our seventh year at Howarts, one afternoon I was in the library..."  
  
"It figures."  
  
"Ron! You promised."  
  
"I know, I know. I'll remain a tombstone."  
  
"Well, as I said, I was in the library..."  
  
Hermione went past to that very moment during seventh year. She had the memory of that day vividly inscribed in her mind, every detail, every image. Four girls gathered around a table, late in the afternoon. The place was almost deserted and the reddish gleam of the setting sun entered through the tall windows of the library. Madam Pince seemed oblivious to the chattering group ensembled at the farthest corner of the room.  
  
"So what do you think, Hermione?"  
  
"I think that if you don't shut up and start doing your homework, there'll be no Graduation Ceremony to worry about. We'll never get to pass our NEWTS!"  
  
"C'mon, Herms, nobody is going to fail. We've done enough study for today, that's all. We have earned ourselves some relaxation," Lavender pleaded, batting her eyelashes innocently.  
  
Hermione sighed and rested the quill on top of her notes. She was outnumbered by Lavender, Parvati and Parvati's twin, Padma. If you cannot defeat your enemy, you better join them. With a bit of luck, she would have some time to study after dinner.  
  
"So," Lavender looked at her intently, "will you choose chocolate brown or golden caramel robes? Personally, I think chocolate brown brings out your eyes."  
  
"No way! Chocolate brown is a bit too dark and dull for a ball. I think she might wear dark red, a small sexy touch won't do any harm," Padma said. The rest of the girls giggled. Hermione was not specially know for her 'sexy touch'.  
  
"I don't know," Hermione shrugged, "the ball is ages away!"  
  
"Two months is not ages away! Besides, you'll have to hurry up if you want to get a good dress from Madam Malkin's," Parvati warned. "You know, having the rignt dress, the rest is child's play!"  
  
"That's not true Parv," Padma argued. "The most important thing is of course having a date to go with!"  
  
"I'm going with Seamus," Lavender started, going pink. "Not that big of a surprise."  
  
"I guess I'll go either with Harry or Ron," Hermione said plainly. "Not a big surprise either."  
  
"Sorry to blow up your plans, but Ron's going with Luna Lovegood," Padma said. "I heard her talking to some fifth year on Ravenclaw common room just this morning. Apparently, he just asked her yesterday."  
  
Hermione oppened her mouth in shock. Apparently also, Ron had forgot to tell her of his intentions. Nevertheless, she was glad for him, Ron had kept blushing beetroot for some months now everytime he was around Luna. It was only a matter of time.  
  
"Well, then I have only one option, I'll go with Harry," she smiled.  
  
"No, you can't," Parvati blurted. The other girls eyed her curiously.  
  
Parvati went pink and hung his head down. "I mean, Harryaskedmetotheball."  
  
Lavender stared at her open mouthed. "Harry Potter? You never said, you little... Wait, you don't even like him!"  
  
Parvati was now a deep shade of magenta. "Uhm, I... well, he just wanted to have a word with me before we came to the library. Well, he's persuasive, you know," she said defensively.  
  
"Is he?" Hermione raised an eyebrow. "I would have thought he was rather shy."  
  
"Okay, I just... urgh. He looked at me with those incredible green eyes and I could not resist." She buried her flushed face in her hands while the other girls roared with laughter. "I admit it, I might like him... a little bit." Madam Pince looked at them murderously.  
  
"I guess I'll go stag, then," Hermione said, wiping off the tears from laughing.  
  
"There are plenty of available boys still at Howarts, you can't go stag. You musn't go stag," Lavender said, tossing her blonde hair aside.  
  
"You can always owl Viktor Krum," Padma suggested.  
  
"He's playing at Canada. Besides, I don't think his girlfriend would approve."  
  
"Um, Hermione, I have always wanted to ask you something," Padma started. "How is it... I mean, to be kissed by an International Famous Quidditch player?"  
  
"Padma!" Parvati glared at her twin.  
  
"It was fine, I guess."  
  
"Fine?"  
  
"Just fine?"  
  
"What?" She looked at the girls. "Is there a rate or anything?"  
  
Lavender looked at her, astonished. "Of course there's a rate! You can have fine, good or excellent kisses," she counted with her fingers.  
  
"Together with brotherly, friendly or passionate love kisses," Parvati continued.  
  
"Don't forget about the opposites," Padma warned. "You can also have disgusting, slugish, stinky kisses, or..."  
  
"Breathtakingly wonderful incredible kisses," the three cooed merrily. Hermione rolled her eyes and started wondering why was she losing her time with three girls with a mental age of three.  
  
"If I had had one of those, I would remember," Hermione finally answered. "But I guess Krum's kisses were... just fine."  
  
The three girls looked extremely disappointed, and Hermione felt as if it was her fault. After all, she had only dated three boys in her whole life. The first was Viktor, a very sweet boy, though his kiss just left her as cold as a fish. Then, she had had one single date with Ron, which turned out to be a complete disaster when he kissed her. It felt like kissing her brother, if she had any. And by no means she was telling this to any of the girls. The last of her dates was Ravenclaw Grant Hathaway. She had a light crush on him and they dated for two months before he left her for Cho Chang's younger sister, Li Chang.  
  
But now she was dating no one, and she preferred to concentrate all her energy in the approaching NEWTS. She made her mind and faced her friends.  
  
"Let's take it this way. If I am ever given one of those incredible breathtaking amazing blasts, you will be the first to know. That is if I survive," she smiled convincingly. "And now, study time!"  
  
"I think I've had enough for today," Parvati said while she raised from her seat, closely followed by Lavender.  
  
"Yeah, me too," Padma gathered her books from the table.  
  
"I still have to look for a book on goblin rebellions, it's incredible all the information that is missing from Binn's explanations!"  
  
"Hermione, love," Padma touched her arm, "you really ought to go out some more." She then turned and followed her sister out of the library.  
  
Hermione tilted her head back and massaged her neck. It was stiff from all the hours spent in the library, bent down over a book. She fiddled with her papers, searching for a small note where she had scribbed the name of the book. The library was now deserted, and Madam Pince was gone to the archive to order some books. It was not the first time she was the last student to abandon the library, only that this time she was not alone.  
  
She walked to the Hisotry of Magic shelf , just one row ahead from where she sat. She'd take the book and head directly to the Gryffindor tower. With a bit of luck she could torment Harry and Ron a bit for not telling her about their dates.  
  
Hermione was so deep in her musings that she almost fell when she walked into someone.  
  
"Ouch! I'm sorry, I thought I was the only one left here." She lifted her head and frowned when she realised with whom she had collided.  
  
"Malfoy." The insufferable git had now grown to be almost a head taller than her and stood there with a book in his hand, his trademark smirk across his face.  
  
"Granger."  
  
"Spying on Gryffindor girls, are you? I thought a Malfoy had better things to do."  
  
"I was spying none of your silly talk."  
  
"Yeah, you just happened to pass by and decided to have a bit of light reading on, what, goblin rebellions?"  
  
"That is exactly what I was doing, any problem with it?"  
  
Hermione snorted at the arrogant git. "No. It's only I didn't know you could read upside-down."  
  
He glared at the betraying book. By no means he could deny it. "Well, I heard a bit of your conversation, so what? What are you going to do?" Malfoy stood arrogantly in front of her. "You know," he looked down at Hermione with a strange glint in the eye, "it was quite... revealing."  
  
Hermione raised her eyebrows. What on earth can he possibly find interesting in some silly girl's talk? And why was Malfoy looking at her like that? She felt uncomfortable under his intense, piercing grey eyes. She wouldn't admit it to anyone, but she was not blind to the fact that he had grown really attractive, and being so near to him made her feel uncomfortable. Noticing the effect he had on her, he ventured to come closer. Hermione started retracting her steps as quietly as she could. He might have refused to follow his Death Eater father's path, but he was still far from being someone in whom she would confide.  
  
"I hope your eavesdropping served you to decide on what color of dress robes you should wear," she snapped and turned to leave, but found her way blocked with his arm. He rested the hand with the book at the other side of Hermione, pinning her to the bookself.  
  
Hermione unsuccessfully struggled to free herself, but he was much too strong for her. She kept looking anywhere but him, her heart pounding hard in her chest.  
  
"Actually, I was wondering if you could help me with a question I have," he wishpered softly into her ear, sending sivers through her spine.  
  
"Then you would let me go?" Her voice was quivering. She wanted to push him away from her, but his proximity made her feel warm. She started to feel annoyed with herself.  
  
"Yes. Then I'll let you go where you want to."  
  
"Okay. What is it?" She looked at him directly in the eye, and felt her resolution falter.  
  
His face was only some inches from hers. "I wanted to know if you could rate this." With that, he closed the gap between them and pressed his lips firmly against her mouth.  
  
For a moment Hermione's eyes flashed open from shock, and she felt Draco's hand tucking at the back of her head, pressing her harder to him. The reasonable part of her mind that did still work told her to push him and run away, but her hands strangely had found their own way and were firmly clinging to his back. So she did the only thing she could, and simply disconnected any reasonable thought, drowning herself into Draco's mouth.  
  
He ventured his tongue further and she opened her mouth, deepening the kiss. His hand moved from the shelf to her waist, the book falling to the floor with a loud thump (not that either of them could hear it). Her head was dizzy, probably from the lack of air, but breathing did not seem so important at the moment. He must have have felt a bit light-headed himself, because he lost ground and tumbled backwards, Hermione still frimly grasped by his side. His back crashed violently with the next bookself, which caused him to end the kiss.  
  
They stared at each other, their breath ragged. Draco's hand was still rested on Hermione's neck. She looked at his flushed face and swollen lips, her full body aching with desire. None of them dared to speak first.  
  
Just then, the library doors creaked open, and Hermione jumped out of Malfoy's arms, waking up from her reverie. She turned to her table and collected her bag. Without turning back, she hurried past Madam Pince, who had just returned from the archive, and left the library.  
  
Once out, she took flight to Gryffindor comon room. When she arrived at the portrait hole, she was breathless and couldn't manage to say the entrance password.  
  
"Are you ok, missy? You look rushed, truth to be told," the Fat Lady asked Hermione.  
  
"Of course I'm not ok," she mumbled to herself, "I've just had the most breathtaking, incredible, most wonderful of the kisses." The Fat Lady looked at her questioningly, but Hermione said the password and entered the common room, straightening up and pretending nothing had happened.  
  
Hermione coughed a bit before looking at her friends. It was the first time she had told someone about this story, and she felt awkwardly embarrased. Just as she expected, Ron was looking at her disbelievingly with his mouth hanging open. Harry's eyes were wide, and he looked stunned. An unconfortable silence passed between the three.  
  
"Uhm, well..." she started.  
  
"I can't believe it," Ron glared at her, "you kissed Malfoy? I mean, he's Malfoy."  
  
"Oh Ron, don't start."  
  
"Fraternising with the enemy!"  
  
Hermione bursted out laughing. "He's not the enemy, you know that. And it was him who kissed me, years, ages ago!"  
  
"I can't believe you never told us," Harry finally managed to say.  
  
"It was nothing. Nothing, all right? I don't know why I bothered to tell you." How had she been so stupid as to believe they would understand? I was just a silly school anecdote, wasn't it?  
  
"You promised not to get mad at me, remember?"  
  
"It's alright, Hermione. We're just, shocked. Isn't it that, Ron?"  
  
"Yeah, bloody scared out my wits," Ron smiled to her.  
  
Harry emptied his glass in one gulp. "You know, I thought Malfoy had stopped insulting you because he feared Ron and me beating him up," he chuckled. He paid the bill to the barman and the three of them exited the pub.  
  
"Sorry if I hurt your heroic ego, Mr. Potter," said Hermione sarcastically.  
  
"Next time there's an evil overlord on the loose, I think we'll send you to tame him into a puppy," Harry said, and they all laughed at the thought of it.  
  
"I can't wait to tease Malfoy with this piece of news at work." Hermione directed him a quizzical look. "He's an Auror now, you know."  
  
"No, in fact I don't. I haven't seen him since Hogwarts graduation." After the 'incident' in the library, Hermione had avoided all contact with the Slytherin till they graduated, and it seemed he had tried to do the same. Even during Potions, in which both houses usually met, they did not look at each other, though Hermione would have swore she saw him looking in her direction when nobody noticed. Then school finished and they followed separated paths. She had thought about that incident many times, but never talked about it till tonight.  
  
"He's been living in France for all these years, specialising in vampire hunting. But now he has come back, just to remind me why I hated him so much." Harry posed a disgusted face. "He hasn't changed a bit. He's the same arrogant insufferable git he's always been."  
  
They walked arm in arm till they reached the Apparation post for the boys to go home.  
  
"I'm not sure you should Apparate with all you've been drinking. You might splinch yourselves if you're not careful. Why don't you take the Knight Bus with me?"  
  
The boys looked at her alarmingly.  
  
"I'd rather splinch myself, you know," Ron smiled. "Come to visit soon." He hugged his friends and Disapparated before them with a loud cracking noise.  
  
"Harry, don't tease Malfoy with this, will you?" Hermione looked at her friend pleadingly.  
  
"I promise nothing," he grinned, and with a swift kiss on her forehead he Disapparated too, leaving Hermione alone in the deserted street.  
  
She pulled her shawl closer and started walking. She shouldn't have told her friends about the kiss with Malfoy, what was she thinking? Now they would tease her endlessly for a simple, tiny, little unimportant peck.  
  
Only that it was not that simple.  
  
Definitely it was neither a tiny peck on the cheek.  
  
Not to mention, it was not that unimportant if she could recall it so vividly after so many years.  
  
Truth to be told, she had never been kissed like that again.  
  
With a deep sigh, she raised her wand hand. The flashing light almost blinded her, and there appeared the Knight Bus to take her home. 


	2. Cold Butt, Warm Coffee

NEVER BEEN KISSED LIKE THAT  
  
Chapter Two:  
  
"Cold Butt, Warm Coffee"  
  
The first snowflakes began to fall over London in the third week of December. Hermione rubbed her hands over the stove, hoping it would unfreeze them. Looking through the window she could see how little by little the streets turned white, as wizards packed with Christmas presents came in and out of the shops in Diagon Alley.  
  
"When are we going to have a decent stove?" she cried exasperately. "If I sit at this one,my butt will remain as frozen as now."  
  
"Darling, you'll still have an iced butt no matter where you sit." A massive witch in purple robes smiled at Hermione from under a pile of parchment. Hermione directed her an annoyed look.  
  
"What do you mean by that, Loretta?" Hermione frowned.  
  
"Nothing at all. I only say that it'll do you no harm to have a little fun every now and then. You work too much."  
  
"I'm just trying to do my job, you know. We're this near to win Fudge," she made a gesture with her fingernail and thumb. "If we could only get invited to the Ministry Anniversary Ball," she sighed, "I would make Fudge agree to the resigning of non-magical creatures restriction."  
  
"Don't worry, Hermione, we'll manage to push some sense into his thick head. Besides, you've got contacts at the Ministry, why don't you try to get invited to the Ball?"  
  
Hermione put on her gloves and wrapped herself in her woolen scarf. "I'll talk Harry into it. Now I need some hot coffee, I'm freezing."  
  
She hurried down the street, snowflakes getting tangled in her curls. She had somehow become addicted to caffeine, and there was only one place where she would buy her daily supply, the Watercolors Café. It was a small cafe almost hidden in Linseed Alley, the turn at Diagon Alley where you can find most of the stuff for wizarding artists.  
  
She inhaled the sweet smell of freshly made coffee when she entered the place. It was usually packed with people because it was a common meeting place for intellectuals and artists. Hermione was neither of both, but she loved the coffee the same. She took her place at the bar and waited for Molly to prepare her double expresso and Loretta's capuccino.  
  
"Can I have some saccharine with the capuccino?" she smiled to the waitress."Thanks Molly,"  
  
"Do you want sugar for your expresso?" the young girl asked Hermione.  
  
"Oh, no thanks. I like it bitter."  
  
"Watching your figure, Granger? Some sugar won't spoil it, you know," a voice said from behind her.  
  
That drawl, she thought. I know that voice too well. Though deeper in pitch, she would have recognised it at once.  
  
"Draco Malfoy," she said, turning to face the blonde man in front of her. If she had been a little younger, she would have blushed instantly. But now Hermione was no longer an innocent schoolgirl that got impressed by stunningly good-looking guys. And believe me, Draco Malfoy was stunning.  
  
Harry was wrong, Draco Malfoy had changed in these years, changed for good. His features, once girly, had become sharp and manly. His silky blonde hair was no longer plastered to his skull with gel, but it hung loose smoothly, jaw-long, framing his face. His once lanky form had disappeared, and through his heavy cloak one could imagine a well-toned body and broad shoulders.  
  
But there was one thing that remained from the spoiled brat he once was at Hogwarts. Now he was looking down at Hermione with the same smirk she had to endure during seven years there. It must be part of the inheritance he got from his father when he died. Some said it was him who killed Lucius during the war, but she knew better. Hary had told her Lucius Malfoy was killed by Voldemort himself when he tried to protect Draco. He might have been a bastard all his life, and even disowned Draco when he joined the Order, but in his last moments he found redemption.  
  
"It's been a long time, Granger," he smiled at her. Smiled? Draco Malfoy smiling? Those years must have done a profound change in him, she thought.  
  
"Yeah, a long time. I haven't heard of you since Graduation." Where the hell were her coffees? She wanted to leave from there right now!  
  
"I've been abroad, training. I'm an auror now."  
  
"Yeah, I know," she said. He looked at her curiously. "Harry told me," she explained.  
  
"Um, Potter," he grunted. Hermione rolled her eyes, some things never change. Malfoy hating Harry and vice-versa was one of this everlasting guy hate things, she guessed.  
  
"I believe you work together."  
  
"We work in the same place, but that doesn't mean we work together, you know," he corrected her. Boys. Men. Gits. Whatever, they're so childish sometimes.  
  
An uncomfortable silence passed them, and Hermione began tapping nervously at the bar.  
  
"Do you usually come here, I mean, to this café?" Malfoy asked her.  
  
She lifted her head, believing her ears were failing her. Draco Malfoy was trying to engage her in conversation. "Yes. I just found it six months ago." Molly was nowhere to be seen, and Hermione was getting impatient.  
  
"I always used to come here. They have the best coffee in London, don't you think?" Hermione glared at Malfoy. What was he doing? Trying some small talk with her? What will be next, the weather?  
  
"Here you have your coffees, Hermione," Molly interrupted her wanderings. "Sorry for the delay, but the machine got jammed somehow."  
  
"Don't worry," she said, while looking into her purse for the correct change.  
  
"Don't bother," Malfoy said, handing the waitress some Knuts with a wink. "Next time we meet, you'll pay."  
  
Hermione was shocked. Next time? Who was he kidding? She was never coming back there. Not if there was a chance to meet the arrogant git again.  
  
"All right," she heard herself saying. Perfect, when had her brains melted into pulp? Everybody said she was a clever witch, but now she was just acting stupid. She couldn't think with clarity, not with Malfoy around. She wanted to slap his stupid smirk off his face.  
  
"Nice to see you again, Granger," he said. She was sure he was pulling her leg, but she wouldn't give in.  
  
"Yeah, whatever." She turned on her heels and left before she suffered any more brain damage.  
  
Hermione left the capuccino at Loreta's desk and resumed her place by the stove to drink hers. She had a mountain of work to do and there she was, fuming, thinking on none other than Draco Malfoy. Years had made him good, that was without question. She kicked herself mentally for having such thoughts.  
  
Hermione separated a bit from the stove, not able to bear the heat. "What did you do to this?" she asked Loretta.  
  
"I mixed a heating spell with a burning one, I hope we don't blow away."  
  
"I hope so, but thanks, I really needed a bit of warmth. You are the best Lory!" She blew the other witch a kiss, and then it stuck her.  
  
The kiss! Of course, how had she been so stupid. She was going to kill Harry. He must have teased Malfoy about the kiss. And now the proud git was feeling so important to have made such an impression on the bushy know-it- all. But she was no longer a little girl and wouldn't tolerate any bickering. Yeah, she would kill Harry... slowly. Defeating Voldemort would seem a picnic party compared to what she would do.  
  
Hermione sat at her table and pulled some fresh parchment and quill.  
  
"Dear Harry," she started. She left the quill on the table and teared the parchment in two. With narrowed eyes, she pulled another piece of parchment. This was no time for pleasantries.  
  
Harry,  
  
What the hell where you thinking? Didn't I expresely forbid you to tell Malfoy about the "Kiss"? I encountered him just a few moments ago and he tried to pull my leg, being nice and all. I'll make your life miserable, Harry James Potter, be sure of that.  
  
Hermione Granger  
  
P.S. If it is not much a disturbance, I'd love it if you invite me to the Minisrty Anniversary Ball, will you? You're a heaven. Thanks.  
  
Hermione folded the letter and attached it to Foxy, the orange-feathered owl from Loretta. Then she sat back at her table and sighed at seeing amount of paperwork that loaded her desk. She rolled up her sleeves and started working.  
  
She was so concentrated on her things that Hermione jumped when something tapped at her window. A snowy owl was just outside, Hedwig, Harry's owl. She opened the window and let her in. After rewarding her with some treats, she unfolded the letter from Harry.  
  
Dear Hermione,  
  
What are you talking about? I want you to take this into your full-to-the- brim-with-nonsense head. I never, mark my words, NEVER, said a word of your disgusting saliva exchange with the anoying ferret, not even to him. It took me two memory spells to erase the very image from my mind. Really, Hermione, Malfoy? So stop with your unbased threats or I'll go up there and kick up your know-it-all arse.  
  
P.S. Of course, I'll be delighted to take you to the ball with me. Only promise you won't be the whole evening stalking Fudge. Do you still fit into that low neck black dress you wore last Christmas?  
  
Hermione stared at the parchment. Harry hadn't said a word of her 'secret'. Right. So Draco Malfoy had been polite with her on his own accord. Right. No, wait that was not right. If one thing, it was utter, terribly wrong.  
  
Better that than being called 'Mudblood' at every turn. She shrugged and shook any thoughts of the blonde aside. Pulling some fresh parchment again, she prepared to write back to Harry.  
  
Dear Harry,  
  
Are you suggesting I cannot fit in my old clothes anymore? Because I can still hex you into... 


	3. I Like it Sweet

NEVER BEEN KISSED LIKE THAT  
  
Chapter Three:  
  
"I Like it Sweet"  
  
Hermione kept staring at the looking glass, turing right and left, admiring the glint of her new robes in the dim light. Madam Guilhart stood beside her, showing a smile of approval.  
  
"You look wonderful, Miss Granger. Dark red is definitely your colour."  
  
Hermione nodded slowly, not able to conceal her wonder. She really looked beautiful. After all these years she had decided to let her hair loose and try something more stylish, to put it midly. The dark velvety robes had a v- form neck that hung, revealing her shoulders and wrapped around her waist sensuously. These were the most precious dress robes she had ever worn, and she would walk into the Ministry's Anniversay Ball in them by the arm of no other than the man who defeated the Dark Lord.  
  
She changed into her muggle clothes and paid for the dress and the matching coat and shoes. Madam Guilhart's was one of the most sophisticated shops in Diagon Alley, and that meant it was extremely expensive, too. She knew she would regret to spend so much in this outfit, but what the heck! It was gorgeous.  
  
"You got it?" Loretta asked as Hermione entered their office.  
  
"Yeah, I'll have to live on canned sausages for six months to pay it, though," she whined.  
  
Loretta stepped aside as a mountain of parchment pushed its way through the corridor and directed towards Hermione's desk. Hermione reached for it and shoved it on the table. Under all the parchment there was a tiny elf with large bulging brown eyes.  
  
"Winky brought all the firms collected for the magical creatures restriction. I is happy because many firms is there!"  
  
"Thanks Winky, all this wouldn't have been possible without your help," Hemione said earnestly to the former house elf. Since the begining of her carreer as defender for all magical creature's rights, Hermione tried to recruit as many people as possible for the cause. It had turned out a great surprise to get Winky, who had finally decided to leave Hogwarts and her continuous mourning for good.  
  
But the W.M.C.A. was not the product of three workers. Among the staff members we could find two elves (Winky and Dobby had proved to be ardent defenders of Hermione's beliefs), one centaur (centaurs decided to have some representation in the commitee since some centaur-asaulting by ex- ministry undersecretarys in the Forbidden Forest), four humans (besides Hermione and Loretta, there was also Jamie, who worked mainly as secretary, and Stephen, a wizard lawyer) to finish with several goblins (Gringotts was especially interested in the possibility to gain representation in the Wizengamot). There were also other organizations attached to it, such as the WOLF (Werewolves Ordeal for Liberty Foundation) led by no other that Remus J. Lupin, apart from other informal non-institutional support and the growing social pressure for equal rights for all magical creatures.  
  
"I guess this is it." Hermione seemed happier than she had been in months. Her dream was coming closer. "Once we have our proposal finally shaped, we will present it to Fudge. He can't back it, not with the public eye set on him. He'd risk re-election."  
  
"And if he finaly signs for it, the Wizengammot post is granted," Loretta summed up. "Child's play. Just play your cards right on the Ball, Hermione."  
  
"Sure I will, there's too much at stake," she smiled nervously. She had to do it, and she would do it right.  
  
"Why don't you go find some coffee while I tidy all this mess?" Loretta pointed at the mountain of paperwork to do.  
  
"Uhm, I don't know..."  
  
"What? Still afraid to walk into the blonde ambition?" That was the nickname Loretta used to describe Malfoy after Hermione had told her everything about him, their past at Hogwarts and their encounter only some days ago.  
  
Hermione went pink, but glared at the older witch defiantly. "I'm not afraid of him! It's only, I just..."  
  
"Fine then, I want a capuccino, with loads of suggar," Loretta shoved Hermione her coat and scarf and pushed her to the door.  
  
Hermione hesitated at the café's door. Then, with an air of resolution, pushed it open. A couple having a mug of hot chocolate in a far corner, some famous painter or poet under a fog of smoke having an italian coffee, and Molly by the bar cutting into a delicious-looking chocolate cake. Chocolate cake, yummy! Everything fine, coast clear, no blondes at sight.  
  
She sat at a high chair and ordered her drinks, with extra sugar for the capuccino. Then she paid and wished Molly merry Christmas.  
  
When she was at the door, it opened so suddenly that she had no time to more firmly grasp the papercups. They smashed onto the carpeted floor, leaving a dark brown stain.  
  
"I'm so sorry. I mustn't have pushed the door with such force," the person entering the café said.  
  
Hermione took her wand and muttered a cleaning spell on her robes and the floor. "It's ok, Malfoy," she said, still focusing on her robes. Why, oh God, why did it have to be him?  
  
"I'll get you some coffee, then. It is the least I could do," he offered.  
  
"No thanks." She motioned him towards the bar. "Besides, we'll agreed next time we met I'd invite."  
  
Malfoy blinked twice, as if thinking over the proposition, and then said, "Okay," and followed her. Hermione ordered her coffees again and a double expresso for Malfoy.  
  
"With loads of sugar," he said. "I like it sweet, you know," he smirked.  
  
"Yeah, it will balance your natural bitterness," she said sarcastically.  
  
"Actually, I don't have to watch on my figure, you know." He looked at Hermione and then nodded to the chocolate cake. "I've noticed your longing looks."  
  
"Not taking sugar has nothing to do with my figure, thank you very much, Mr. cool Auror," she snapped. "My parents are dentists, and since I was a child, I was taught to avoid sugar. But that doesn't mean I don't like it like everybody else. I just want my teeth perfect the way they are."  
  
"Your teeth are the way they are thanks to me, Granger." He was referring, of course, to the incident with the teeth enlarging spell back in fourth year.  
  
Hermione blushed slightly and remained silent. There was no denying he had a point in that. Molly came back with their orders and Hermione paid the bill.  
  
"There's a Ball at the Ministry on the 25th," Malfoy said casually.  
  
"The Anniversary Ball, I know." She fastened her scarf and prepared to leave.  
  
"Uhm, are you invited?" Malfoy dropped the third sugar cube into his cup. He really liked it sweet. Hermione wondered if it he would rather drink sugar with a bit of coffee in it.  
  
"I'm going with Harry," she said. She missed the look of disappointmet in the young man. She rose from her seat and took her drinks. "I better get going. Bye, Malfoy."  
  
When she was at the door, she turned on her heels and looked at him. He was still looking at her from the bar. "Merry Christmas, Malfoy." She pulled the door open and walked into the cold weather.  
  
"I almost tried one of those horrible instant-spell coffees! Why did it take you so long?" Loretta protested as Hermione entered their office.  
  
"Oh, Lory, please. Just drink and shut up, will you?" Hermione handed the warm capuccino to the black witch.  
  
"For your mood, I presume you had an encounter with the blonde amb..."  
  
"Just leave it. I encountered no one, okay?" Hermione spat angrily. Just then the doorbell rang and Loretta walked to open it. Hermione felt bad for having just shouted at her, but she was not in the mood for any teasing.  
  
"Hermione," Loretta called her from the door. Malfoy just appeared from behind her, and she couldn't avoid the shocking look showing in Hermine's eyes.  
  
"You just forgot your purse at the café," he said, handing it to her. "I followed you to give it back, but you are a fast walker," he laughed nervously.  
  
"Oh, thanks," she muttered. Her mind had gone blank and she could not think of anything more to say. Dammit! She was blushing.  
  
"I'll leave now, got things to do," he said awkwardly. Then he turned to Loretta and nodded goodbye.  
  
The massive witch walked slowly to Hermione and sat across from her. She looked at the curly haired witch intently in the eye, with a huge grin spread on her chubby face. "Well?" she asked.  
  
"Well what?" Hermione asked back.  
  
"If that was not the hottest wizard alive in this part of the universe, then I'm not Lorretta Anne Mary Wilson," she said, and Hermione laughed heartily.  
  
"Be careful, darling," the witch adopted a more serious tone. "That is the kind of wizard that can turn your world upside-down."  
  
"No one is turning my world upside down," Hermione protested.  
  
"Not that it would be that bad to spice up your life, mind you," Loretta winked.  
  
"We've got work to do." Hermione was not in a playful mood. Her friend resumed her seat by the furthest corner of the room and continued working, though Hermione would have swore she had heard her sayind 'cold ass' under her breath.  
  
Her apartment was in plain muggle London, a small two room penthouse from where she could go walking to work. It took most of her monthly salary to live in there, but she thought it was perfect. It was a place of her own, and that was what mattered.  
  
Crookshanks purred cozily in her lap while she opened a letter from her parents. They were on holiday in Swizerland, skiing. Hermione couldn't spent the holidays with them because she had work to do, and a Ball to attend.  
  
Then she rummaged through her owl post. There was a Christmas card from Ron and Luna. There was a picture of them with their twins, who kept on putting faces and hitting each other under the Christmas tree. There was also a small package from Harry. She tore open the wrapping paper and opened the black velvet narrow box. She gasped audibly and put her hand over her mouth.  
  
Inside the box lay an incredible diamond necklace, with a pair of sparkling diamond earrings matching. Her eyes were popping out of her sockets from amazement. There was also a note.  
  
Dear Hermione,  
  
Stop gawping and behave! I just borrowed this jewerly for you to wear at the Ministry; being the man who defeated the Dark Lord has its compensations. So stop drooling over it this moment or we'll have to pay for it. I hope you liked it. What am I saying? Of course you liked it! Who wouldn't?You'll have the time to tell me how wonderful and extremely handsome I am at the Burrow. I guess you are comming for Christmas Eve, aren't you?.  
  
Yours,  
  
Harry.  
  
Hermione passed her finger along the necklace, feeling the coldness of the diamonds. She was going to go to that Ball in the most beautiful of dresses, by the hand of the most popular wizard alive, and with those incredible diamonds sparkling on her neck. And she would talk Fudge into having a meeting with her committee, and all her work would be rewarded. Life was perfect.  
  
She went to bed early and closed her eyes, she was so excited that it was four in the morning when she drifted to sleep. 


	4. The Ministry Anniversary Ball

NEVER BEEN KISSED LIKE THAT  
  
Chapter four:  
  
"The Ministry Anniversary Ball"  
  
"Oh, c'mon, Hermione! We'll never get into that stupid ball if you don't get out of the bathroom this moment," Harry shouted at the bottom of the stairs. They had stayed for the Christmas Eve night at the Burrow and from there would go to the Ministry Anniversary Ball.  
  
"The Ministry's car has just arrived. We'd better get going," said Arthur Weasley. As head of the Department for the Regulation of Magical Artifacts, Mr. Weasley was also attending the impending Ball with his wife. Bill had already left for it, with his brother Percy, to pick up their dates.  
  
Upstairs, Ginny was helping Hermione into the dress. "I shouldn't have had so many treacle tarts yesterday," she said. "I'll never fit into the robes!"  
  
"Just hold on your breath for a sec, and I'll do the zipper, ok?" Hermione did as Ginny told her, and the zipper finally reached the top. Hermione looked at her reflection in the mirror. Diamonds sparkled merrily on her neck. The red velvet fabric of the robes was wrapped tightly around her waist, revealing her curves. Too sensuous for her taste, but it was too late to think of that now.  
  
"Wow, Hermione, you look wonderful! And sexy, for a change," Ginny grinned.  
  
"Yeah, I guess if I don't move too much, or breathe, the zipper will stay put." She descended the stairs to find a very elegantly dressed Harry waiting for her. They said their goodbyes to the rest of the Weasley Clan and got into the car to get to London.  
  
From the outside, one might have been suspicious at the amount of strangely dressed people entering the apparently useless phone box on a back street of London city. But, from a magical point of view, this was the event of the year. Hermione tapped her foot nervously as the light emerging from the Ministry's hall started to creep up the box.  
  
The sight was wonderful. Walls covered in shining golden stripes, impossible ice statues ornamenting the tables, and the most select of the wizarding society in their best attire. The power and splendour of the magical world was on display, but deprived of the bulk of all the magical creatures that formed it. Hermione was on a mission, and she wouldn't leave until she had talked Fudge into a meeting.  
  
Wizards came to greet Harry every second, shaking hands and patting backs, paying no attention to Hermione. After a while, he turned to her, with a scared look in his eyes. "Don't look, Hermione. Ludo Bagman, at my right. Quick, move!" He motioned her through the people, towards one of the bars. "If he spots us, you better forget talking to anyone else for the whole evening. One more back-patting, and I'll be spewing my lungs out. No offense intended, for the spew thing, I mean," he said.  
  
"No offense taken, Harry," she smiled. "Why don't you go get some drinks?" Harry nodded and went to the bar.  
  
Hermione scanned the crowd, in search of Fudge. It'll be hard to get to him, she thought; she knew perfectly well that he would avoid her as much as he could.  
  
A tall glass was placed in her hand; it was champagne. "Thanks Harry, but you know how silly I get when I drink Champagne. You don't want me to repeat that incident with the fluffy pink wig and the moose..." she stopped dead in mid- sentence. A very curious Draco Malfoy stood beside her, with a playful smirk on his lips.  
  
"Go on," he said, "you can't start a story and leave it mid-way. I brought you a drink, so now be kind and tell me what was it with the pink fluffy wig and the moose," he arched his brow seductively.  
  
Hermione rolled her eyes. If they had been still been in school, she would have told him to sod off. But they were adults now, so she just cursed him mentally.  
  
"It was a silly story, nothing worth telling," she finally said. Malfoy looked at her disbelievingly. She decided to ignore him and instead concentrate on the people moving on the dance floor. Hermione could feel him staring at her, at every inch of her too-tight dress. Why did I have to buy it? She shifted uncomfortably.  
  
"Sorry for the delay." Harry appeared at her right, carrying two glasses. When he spotted Malfoy, his smile faded.  
  
"Potter," the blonde man drawled.  
  
"Malfoy." Harry said his name as if he had stepped on dragon dung. "I thought you were on duty tonight," he said. Hermione noted the glint of malice in his words.  
  
"Yeah, it seems someone talked the Head of Department into assigning me to personally investigate the sudden explosion of toilets at Victoria Station tonight." He glared at Harry murderously. "I dealt with that and still had time to come here unpolluted. I'm sorry I cannot say the same for you," he pointed at Harry's ever-messy hair.  
  
Uh-oh, Hermione knew what was coming next. It was like those old westerns in which the bad guy narrows his eyes and the good guy narrows his eyes too, and they both finger their guns nervously, each at an end of a very long, dust-covered street. She could almost hear the wind blowing a tumbleweed far away.  
  
"Hey Harry, I've been looking for you for quite a while. Bagman is out there on the loose and full of firewhiskey, so you better hide," Bill Weasley patted Harry's shoulder. Though Hermione had just seen him some hours before, she greeted the red-haired Weasley enthusiastically. After all, his interruption had saved the two immature gits from starting a row.  
  
"Malfoy, hell, just heard you were back from France," Bill shook the other man's hand. "Fed up with the Bouillabaisse?" he laughed.  
  
Bill was by far the coolest of the Weasley brothers, and he knew everyone worth knowing, but being on speaking terms – correction, on friendly terms- with the perpetrator of the Hogwarts hit 'Weasley is our King' was a shock. In response to the questioning looks from Harry and Hermione, he explained, "Malfoy and I were in the same Mountain Auror Training in the Himalayas, and later in the Pyrennes. Did he ever tell you why he stopped using hair gel?"  
  
Malfoy glared at Bill. "I don't think they need to know about that."  
  
"Oh, but we do," Harry grinned as if Christmas had come twice, for tonight was really Christmas day. "Please, I'm more than willing to listen."  
  
"Then, if you don't mind, I'll take the lady here to dance, and you can keep on drooling over a vision of me in snow robes," he retorted maliciously. Then he looked at Hermione.  
  
Hermione did a double-take and then understood. Not only had he referred to her as a 'lady', but he also wanted to dance with her. She took his hand reluctantly, leaving a very annoyed Harry behind them.  
  
"So why did you really come to this event?" Malfoy steered her through the dancing floor expertly, his left hand clasped on her right, the other resting on her waist.  
  
"First, what exactly makes you think I'm going to tell you? And second, why the hell did you invite me to dance?" she snapped. She was annoyed with the uncomfortable feeling she had every time he was around; it was all his fault.  
  
"And third, why do you have to be so insufferable?" he frowned. "I was just trying to engage you in conversation."  
  
"That's exactly why! Why do you want to converse with me?" She looked at him defiantly. He held her stare for a moment, as if weighting his answer. Then he turned his gaze to the side and dropped his hands from her.  
  
"I thought I was doing you a favor by getting rid of a stupid conversation on hair gel and the Yeti's taste on first courses, but I see I was wrong." With that, he turned on his heels and left Hermione alone in the centre of the dance floor.  
  
She didn't see him following the man in black robes that had made Malfoy a sign to follow him out of the hall.  
  
Draco walked down the corridor, his light brows creased in a frown. This was going to be harder than he had expected. But nothing is beyond the reach of a Malfoy, and he knew that, sooner or later, he'd have what he needed.  
  
He opened the dark mahogany door leading to a wide office. The fake windows presented a cloudless sky, stars shining brightly against the navy blue background. He directed himself to the desk at the further end of the room, where a shadowy figure sat on a high chair.  
  
"Did you get any information?" the man at the desk asked.  
  
"I need more time," Draco drawled.  
  
"You alreay had some days, and we're still at the start point. You'd better come come with something soon..."  
  
"It's going to be harder than I thought," he interrupted. "She's quite reluctant to talk to me, but I'll sort that out," Draco spoke confidently.  
  
"You know what's at stake, Mr. Malfoy. If you play your cards right, you'll get yourself positioned most conveniently at the Ministry." The man rose from his seat and approached Draco. He was a short, stocky man with short white hair, probably in his sixties.  
  
"I won't fail, Minister Fudge. It's both your interest and mine that are at stake," Draco said. "You just keep postponing any meeting with the WMCA as long as you can, and I'll do my job." He nodded goodbye to Fudge and exited the office.  
  
He was not there when a pair of Ministry guards escorted a very determined Hermione into Fudge's office. She had had to use Harry's influence to make them take her to the Minister of Magic. She took a deep breath before opening the door; this was the moment she had been waiting for so long.  
  
"Harry. Harry!" Hermione spat for the third time.  
  
"Uh, you're back. I want you to meet someone." Harry took her by the arm and led her to a girl with shoulder-length, silky brown hair.  
  
"Hermione Granger, this is Sally Malinger," he said. The girl glared at Harry. "Oh, sorry! Sandy. Sandy Malinger," he corrected himself. Both Hermione and the other girl rolled her eyes.  
  
"It's Mandy, Mandy Salinger," the dark-haired witch finally introduced herself.  
  
"Pleased to meet you," Hermione greeted. Then, taking Harry aside, "I'm leaving. You can stay if you want to."  
  
"What happened?" He eyed her with concern. She looked obviously disappointed at something.  
  
"Nothing. Nothing at all," she said sadly. "I dindn't get the appointment, Harry. Fudge kept on saying this is a delicate affair and that he needs some more time to do some reseach on the matter."  
  
"Maybe he's just trying to do things right," Harry said sympathetically.  
  
"Rubbish. He's just making time to come up with something that will prevent the signing of the agreement. But he won't succeed." She turned to Harry and told him to stay at the party. She would walk home, for it was not very far.  
  
Once outside, she wrapped herself tightly in the coat. It was a cold night, and the skies threatened with some more snow.  
  
"You'll miss Fudge's Anniversary speech if you leave now. Or is that the reason you're leaving early?" Hermione felt this whole thing was some kind of recurrent nightmare.  
  
"Malfoy, are you following me?" she turned to face the blonde man.  
  
Malfoy snorted as if it was the most ridiculous thing he had ever heard, and then pulled his hand from behind his back. He was holding a cigarette. "This is not allowed inside, if you must know."  
  
"That is a horrible vice. I didn't know pureblood wizards smoked, that's so... Muggle of you."  
  
"I don't usually do." He threw the remainder of the cigarette into a snow pile, where it melted a hole. "Only when self-important bookworm witches piss me off royally," he smirked arrogantly at her.  
  
"Touché," she said. He walked to where she was standing, and she could see his pale face and red nose from the cold. Why was he so bloody attractive? Beep, wrong thought. He was a git. With beautiful, steely blue eyes. Wrong again. He was a git with cold stern eyes. Full stop.  
  
"Would you mind if I walk with you for a while?" he purred innocently.  
  
Hermione blinked once, twice. Malfoy never purred questions innocently, or invited her to coffee, or danced with her, or talked to her at all. The most he would have done is call her mudblood, and she would have called him arrogant git or something similar. But that was not talking, after all.  
  
She had known the spoiled child of her school years, but the person in front of her now was a total stranger to her. And it was disconcerting. Maybe she was prejudiced after all. Great Hermione Granger, defender of the rights of the helpless, prejucided against blonde pureblood princes. She let out an exasperated sigh.  
  
Malfoy could sense the gears in her brain working as she measured the question. She was eyeing him as if for the very first time. His plan was surely working.  
  
"This is a free country, do as you please," she shrugged. "But this is Muggle London," she pointed to his robes, "and you'll look really funny in these, Mr. Malfoy."  
  
"No problem with that." He drew out his wand and conjured a pair of black trousers under his robes. Then, to Hermione's dismay, he transfigured his green robes into a long leather coat.  
  
"You know what they say of wizards in leather, don't you Malfoy?" Hermione teased.  
  
"Oh, shut up, Granger, and let's have a bit of non-trascendental, small talk." He walked by her side, hands tucked deep in his pockets. "So, how was your day?"  
  
"Wrong question, try again." Her muffled voice was heard through the upturned collar of her coat.  
  
The two figures walked away through the deserted streets, their animated chatter echoing in the darkness of the night. 


	5. These Things Happen

NEVER BEEN KISSED LIKE THAT  
  
Chapter Five:  
  
"These Things Happen"  
  
Hermione walked as fast as she could through the deserted Diagon Alley. It was six in the morning, and the usual movement of commerce in the streets would not begin until dawn. Half an hour before, she had received an urgent owl from Stephen, the lawyer at WMCA, telling her to come to the office immediately.  
  
Had they heard of her failure with Fudge the previous night? Bad news did spread really quickly, but that had been a fast run. And it was not like Fudge had refused at all, he had just requested some more time. Uncertain thoughts filled her head while she moved with hurried steps. She was almost there.  
  
Her stomach turned over when she saw most of the WMCA's staff gathered at the office door. It couldn't be that bad, could it?  
  
"Hi," she said nervously. "I came as soon as I could."  
  
"Oh, Hermione, this is horrible." Loretta was sniffing profusely into a white tissue.  
  
"Oh, and it's all my fault, I should have been more energetic with..." Hermione started to apologize when a sandy-haired wizard opened the door from inside the building and motioned the group to come in. His hair was all messy, as if he had just woken up with a start from bed, which was probably the truth. Stephen Woodland had been a Hogwarts student, too. He'd graduated three years before the Terrific Trio and had been Head Boy. Since then, he had dedicated his career to defending cases of misuses of magic by magical creatures. He had been on board with the WMCA since its very foundation, and he was one of its most efficient members.  
  
Hermione couldn't contain a loud gasp when she entered the office. Her office. The desks and chairs were turned upside down, and papers and folders were scattered over the floor. The old stove had been blown up, ashes still floating in the dark room. The upper floor was also a mess.  
  
"Let's see if there's anything missing," Stephen said through gritted teeth.  
  
"Who could have done this?" Hermione asked in a small voice.  
  
"Anti-common rights fanatics, ex-Death Eaters, bored teens, ex-lovers..." Stephen trailed off. "There are many people out there waiting for us to fail."  
  
"We've already failed," she said. "No. I have failed. I couldn't talk Fudge into a meeting with us." Tears were silently flowing down her cheeks. What was supposed to be the best moment of her life had turned into a nightmare.  
  
Stephen looked at her sympathetically and squeezed her hand. "Don't worry, we'll sort this out."  
  
"Maybe you can ask Harry to come and look for evidence of who might have done this. After all, this is a criminal act." Loretta was by her former desk, a fierce look in her eyes as she stared at the pile of shattered wood. The other staff members nodded in ageement.  
  
"I'll owl him, then." With a heavy heart, she took some parchment that was not too burned from the floor and went in search of Foxy.  
  
It was almost midday when Harry finished his exhaustive search in the home of the WMCA. By the look in his eyes, almost everyone knew what his report would be. And it was not good news.  
  
"I'm sorry. There's no evidence that they forced the door or used any unlocking spell on it. There is no possible way of tracking down the magic they performed to cause all this mayhem. It was a clean and professional job."  
  
"But why?" Loretta asked. "They didn't take anything from here, so why all the destroying?" she sighed exasperatedly.  
  
"I don't know, Mrs. Crown, these things happen." Harry felt sorry he was of no use. "Do you have any enemies?"  
  
Stephen snorted loudly. "Enemies against a committee formed by werewolves, domestic elves, centaurs and goblins aiming for a better world? In what world do you live Potter?" he replied sarcastically.  
  
"For Merlin's sake! This is not Harry's fault, Stephen. He's just trying to help," Hermione spat angrily. "He's done what he could, so now let's forget about this whole dammed thing and get moving. We've got plenty of work to do, and we are still here whining like babies." Almost instantly, the crowd dissolved and started gathering folders and putting repairing spells everywhere. They knew better than to discuss things with 'the boss' in a bad mood.  
  
Harry gently took Hermione by the arm and led her outside. The activity at Diagon Alley was now at its full strenght, packed with witches and wizards. He started walking through the crowd, Hermione by his side.  
  
"Where are you taking me?"  
  
"It's almost noon, you need to eat something. It'll do you good." Harry said.  
  
Hermione smiled thankfuly. She could always count on her friends to come and help her in her darker hours. "Thanks Harry, you're a good friend."  
  
"I just thought that, with your mouth full, you would stop barking like an enraged dog." This comment earned him a punch in the arm in not a very playful way.  
  
They entered the Leaky Cauldron and sat at their usual table, ordering some sandwiches and two butterbeers. Harry kept her mind distracted from the previous events of the day by talking about his work and the latest pranks by the Weasleys Wizard Weezes, the shop George and Fred had opened with his help seven years ago.  
  
"By the way, I never asked how you ended the Ball yesterday. You know, you seemed well accompained by that brunette. Mandy, is it?" Hermione directed her friend a knowing glance.  
  
"Just the normal stuff. I woke her up this morning and told her to get dressed and leave," he smirked.  
  
"Harry! How could you!" Hermione could not believe her ears.  
  
Sensing the upcoming punch, Harry covered his head defensively. "I was joking, Herms. Joking! You know I wouldn't do such a thing."  
  
Hermione dropped her fist at once. "You'd better not," she threatened.  
  
"She was talking endlessly, boring my pants off with Ministry gossiping. Only when Cho came did she leave me alone. I think Mandy found better company in Ludo Bagman. I saw the two of them leaving together."  
  
"Did you say Cho was there?" Hermione looked at him, sensing the conflicted feelings in his face.  
  
"Yes." He paused, as if trying to know how to say the following. "She was there with her fiancé, an American healer she met last summer. They're getting married the 31st." Harry stared at his butterbeer, avoiding Hermione's eyes.  
  
"I'm sorry, Harry." She could not think of anything better to say. Harry and Cho was an affair she could never understand. One day they were together, the next they hated each other. But it had been almost eight months since their last row, in which Cho had claimed she didn't want to hear from him anymore. They were both really different, and Hermione didn't understand why they kept trying.  
  
"I'm okay, Hermione. It was a matter of time," he said, though he looked far from being ok. He closed his eyes and tilted his head back, letting out a heavy sigh. "It's just... I don't know. I've been living my whole life as if there was no future, you know what I mean? I never made any plans because I never really knew if there was a future for me." Hermione patted his hand reassuringly.  
  
Harry continued. "And now I'm here. I'm an Auror, and that is as far as I was planning. I have never allowed myself to linger on how I wanted my life to be. I never compromised too much with my relationships, so I can't blame Cho for continuing with her life. It would never have worked between us  
  
"I feel terribly lonely. I have never had a normal life, but now I want a witch to love me and who I could love back, a house, a dog, to degnome the garden, children on broomsticks... Does any of this make sense?"  
  
"Of course it does. You are still very young, Harry. Someday you'll find all you wish for." She felt so sorry for the man in front of her. He didn't deserve to feel that way after all he had sacrificed to bring peace to the wizarding world.  
  
"Thanks, Herms. I feel stupid talking about these things to Ron, he is always complaining about his life, going on about how lucky I am to be single. But deep down, I know he's happy with Luna and the twins. He's a lucky man."  
  
"Of course he is. And you are a lucky man, too. You just need to find the right girl." Harry felt relieved at having told Hermione. After all, she was a clever witch, and she was always right.  
  
"Thanks. For everything," Harry smiled. "Uhm, now you mention it, what about you? Too busy for love?" he teased.  
  
"Right you are. Now I can only focus on work." She had really been so absorbed with her job in the last few months that she couldn't remember the last time she'd been on a date.  
  
"Really? You seemed to make a good impression on Malfoy last night." Harry eyed her curiously.  
  
She could feel the heat rising to her cheeks. "I don't know what you're talking about," she lied. She didn't think it was so evident. No matter how hard she tried to hide it, or lie to herself, she felt undoubtedly attracted to Draco Malfoy.  
  
The previous night, they had walked in the snowy streets for hours, till her feet became blue. It didn't matter that her house was only a twenty minute walk from the Ministry. They had talked about what they had done in the last five years; they talked about their friends at Hogwarts and what had become of them, about the professors, about Quidditch, about coffee, and when they had run out of conversation, they talked about the the weather. He had left her at her building and, after waving goodbye, apparated away. It had been a strange night, talking with Malfoy. Apart from some snide remarks, they had managed not to utter a single insult to one another. And he definitely had eased the bad taste from her unsuccessful meeting with Fudge.  
  
"C'mon, Hermione, he was eyeing every inch of your dress. By the way, I forgot to tell you, you looked really wonderful."  
  
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Thanks, it's a pity you needed six hours to transmit the information to your solitary neuron, and another six to verbalize it. Next time you'll notice I'm a woman too!"  
  
"Don't confuse me with Ron, Miss I'm-the-sensitive-one," he pointed at Hermione with a menacing finger. "And back to my point, be careful with Malfoy. I don't know what he's up to, but it won't be anything good. I don't see why he would have danced with you otherwise." This did not have the warning effect on Hermione that he had wanted. She was furious because, apparently, Harry could only conceive Malfoy approaching her with some hidden intention.  
  
"You'll never grow up! We're no longer at Hogwarts, Harry. Stop playing the concerned brother, I know how to take care of myself. Besides, there's nothing to worry about, so stop with your wonderings."  
  
"So no replay of library kissing soon?" he asked with feigned disappointment, batting his eyelashes innocently.  
  
"Oh, you're such an immature prat. Let's go, I've still got plenty of work to do, and I suppose you must return to your dangerous job of protecting the world from evil flushing toilets," she said with sarcasm.  
  
Harry accompained Hermione to the hidden entrance of Diagon Alley, and then left for the Ministry. They had arranged their monthly meeting for mid- January, when Ron would have some days free from his Quidditch practice with the Cannons.  
  
Hermione took a small mirror from her purse and cleaned a few ash stains from her face. It had been a hard week, with all the repairing and cleaning in the office. They had managed to gather all the important documents and put them into the archive again. Winky had a nervous breakdown when one of the sheets with firms she had so thoroughly gathered went missing. Later, they found it half burned under Jamie's quick-type machine (a kind of magical typewriter), and the poor elf finally decided to go home for some rest with Dobby.  
  
"I'll go home and try to convince Howard into giving me a back massage. I feel so sore," Loretta complained.  
  
"You know your husband is a heaven, he'll do anything you ask him to." Hermione was the last one to leave the office. She closed the door behind her and waved goodby to her friend. It had been an awfully long day, but she didn't feel like going home yet. She creased her brow and started walking, and before she realised it, she was in front of the Watercolors Café. She was risking her chances, and she knew it, but she consoled herself by thinking she was there just for a warm drink.  
  
The café was not that big, so a quick scan served her to find what she was looking for, sitting at a far corner by one window. He had his back turned to her, but he didn't seem surprised when she sat in front of him.  
  
"I think it is your treat, Malfoy." Without even arguing with her, he called for the waiter.  
  
"Another capuccino, and a double espresso," he ordered.  
  
"I'd love to sleep tonight, so I'd rather have a hot chocolate, please." The waiter took their orders and left for the bar. Before Malfoy could put his thoughts into words, she added, "to hell with my sugar control, I've had a horrible day."  
  
"I heard something at the Ministry, did Potter find any evidence about the intruders?" Hermione explained everything, from how they had found the office to what Harry had said about the perpetrators.  
  
"Nothing. And they didn't take anything with them. We've been able to gather all the documents pertaining to each of the members of the WMCA," she paused, thinking on something she hadn't paid attention to before. "Now that I think of it, none of the goblins ever appeared to worry about the incident, or to help with the cleaning. But they don't keep any stuff at the office either," she shrugged.  
  
"You can't trust in goblins, you know how they work. If there's no gold involved, they don't care," he said casually. Then, he leaned in and looked at her intently "I wonder how you made them support your committee. After all, we both know your organization is far from lucrative."  
  
"There are other worthy things apart from money, you know," Hermione's temper was starting to rise.  
  
"You mean power. Certainly, goblins are power-hungry. I just wonder at the fact that they stick to your equal rights movement to reach it. I bet there are...faster ways for it."  
  
"And you surely know many of those ways, considering your background." She regreted the words the moment they left her mouth. He glared at her with his piercing grey eyes. "I... I didn't mean it that way," she muttered.  
  
He was frighteningly calm when he spoke next. "It was not my choice to be born in the midst of a pureblood family, as it is not my fault if I always had money. I know most people think my father was an evil bastard, and I was certainly not blind to his wrong-doings, but he was my father. I chose my own destiny by going against the beliefs I was raised with, so I expected more respect from someone that prides herself on fighting against prejudices."  
  
Hermione felt terribly ashamed of herself and hung her head down. "I'm sorry, Malfoy. You're right."  
  
"Those were the two things I thought I'd never hear from you," he smirked, and Hermione relaxed a bit. "But we're living in new times. Things have changed, haven't they?"  
  
"Yeah, things are different now." A slight smile spread across her lips.  
  
"Uh, that reminds me of something I wanted to talk to you about." He changed the topic abruptly, leaving aside the tension of their disagreement. She eyed him curiously.  
  
"There are some ladies." She cocked an eyebrow. "High society ladies, I mean. They are planning a fund-raising event, and they need a cause. I happen to know many of them, and –I know it sounds frivolous-, but after the incident at the WMCA, I guess some help wouldn't hurt."  
  
"And you think that high society ladies would put forth all their effort to organize an event for the cause of equal rights for magical creatures?" She imagined the old bats organising a tea party on behalf of her committee and at the same time enslaving poor house elves to make it perfect.  
  
"You know how the world works, Granger. They might be the least likely group to support your ideas, but they would do anything that is fashionable at the moment."  
  
"So fighting for the less abled is in fashion this season?" she snapped.  
  
"Don't make it sound as if it was my fault. Besides, you can't deny that this also happens in the Muggle world. There are all those concerts against drugs in which half of the singers have experimented with all the stuff available. And don't forget about the fund-raising dinners, in which people eat beluga caviar on behalf of the poor. Hypocrisy is not an only-magical thing. But that doesn't mean they're not helping just the same, right?" He said all this without stopping for breath. He had been researching his arguments thoroughly, and by the look in Hermione's eyes, she was having a hard time finding arguments with which to refute his discourse. She had that look where you could almost hear the clicking inside her head as her brain struggled to find a comeback.  
  
"All right," she finally said. A satisfied smirk appeared on Malfoy's face. Her intelligence was no match for his cunning personality.  
  
Draco stomped into Fudge's office angrily.  
  
"What do you think you're doing, interfering with my work?" He was a sight when furious, but the Minister was an old dog, not so easy to frighten.  
  
"Your stealthy methods haven't provided any information so far," Fudge said calmly.  
  
"And yours have?" Malfoy shouted. Fudge seemed to ignore his question. "I didn't take the time to steal Miss Granger's purse and get the password to the WMCA just for your minions to break in there and turn everything upside down. Now they might get suspicious and take stronger security measures." Fudge remained stony-faced.  
  
"All right, Mr. Malfoy, as our search hasn't proved satisfactory, you'll have your time, and we won't intervene again. But you'll inform me immediately of any further discovery."  
  
"I'm getting closer, and she's starting to confide in me. Moreover, I have a plan to make her think I'm helping with her absurd cause."  
  
"You'd better make sure it works. Now, Mr. Malfoy, I've got plenty of work to do." He dismissed the young man with a wave of his hand. When he was left alone, Fudge walked to the small table placed by the fire and poured himself a glass of firewhiskey from a beautifully patterned crystal bottle. He took half of the drink in one gulp.  
  
"Poor Miss Granger, she wouldn't know what hit her until it's all over," he chuckled darkly, his eyes set on the roaring fire. 


	6. Restricted

NEVER BEEN KISSED LIKE THAT  
  
Chapter six:  
  
"Restricted"  
  
Harry hated liver. Since he was a child, Aunt Petunia had forced him to eat the greasy dark steaks while the rest of the family feasted on rosy roasted beef and jacked potatoes. He hated the smell of it, the texture, the strong flavour; it always made him sick. But there was one thing that Harry hated more than liver. It was tall, blonde and aristocratic. And he happened to be his partner at work.  
  
When he was asked by the head of the department to go on a mission with Malfoy, he knew it would be a hard day. When it turned out the mission was to take control of an illegal breed of carnivorous plant that was causing pandemonium at a Muggle house, he knew his day would be hell. Carnivorous plants loved liver. And he was carrying a bag full of it, while directing his steps to the focus of mayhem.  
  
At least he had a good plan to relax later, he mused. He would be dining with Ginny and Hermione. It was the red-head's idea to invite him to come by. Considering Harry was a single young man living on his own, he had few possibilities to have a decent meal, so he had been more than glad to accept the invitation. Ginny would be preparing pasta at Hermione's, and as the girl was quite the cook, he was sure she would prepare something delicious. He could almost sense the spicy smell of the tomato sauce, the warm and soft fragance of the baked bread, the sweet scent of orangines emanating from a mane of flaming red hair. He sniffed deeply and wrinkled his nose in disgust. The only thing he could detect under his nose was the smelly liver he was carrying right now, which was dripping blood from a little hole in the plastic bag, staining his cloak.  
  
He arrived at the Muggle house and opened the front door, heading for the kitchen. Malfoy was sitting in a chair reading a book, his feet resting on the sink. "Where's Mrs. Johnson?"  
  
"That hysterical Muggle, she was getting on my nerves," Malfoy grunted, without lifting his eyes from the book.  
  
Harry left the bag in the sink, knocking his partner's feet out of the way. Then he turned to the blonde man. "What have you done, Malfoy?"  
  
Malfoy put a hand on his chest, pretending to be hurt. "Moi? I just made her stop shouting."  
  
There was a mumbled sound, as if someone was knocking at a door. Harry turned to the origin of the noise, the larder, and opened the door. There he found a terrified Mrs. Johnson, tied to a chair, her mouth magically sealed with a zipper.  
  
"Malfoy, you're such a bastard," he simply said.  
  
"You're becoming too repetitive, Potter," Malfoy's voice came from the other end of the room.  
  
Harry turned to the old woman and drew his wand out.  
  
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Johnson. But don't worry, you won't remember anything afterwards," he apologized before stunning her. Then he closed the door and turned to the kitchen. "C'mon, we've got work to do." He started unpacking the raw liver, suppressing his sudden urge to throw up the coffee and scones he had had for breakfast. Malfoy looked at the thick, maroon, glossy pieces with disgust over Harry's shoulder.  
  
"I'm not touching that," he said. "It's just a silly plant, and we are experienced Aurors."  
  
"Okay, you go then. I'll wait for you here," Harry said, pushing his slipping glasses up his nose, leaving a blood mark all along his face. He had an amused look, which Malfoy took as a dare.  
  
The blonde Auror opened the door leading to the garden and stalked toward the greenhouse. Harry continued chopping the meat, a huge grin spread across his face. Some seconds later there were some thrashing sounds and the distinctive breaking of some pots. There followed some yells and more thrashing noises.  
  
"AAAAAAARGHHHHH! GEROFF ME!!" Malfoy's yells came from the greenhouse. Harry snorted loudly and began to think that it was worth it to have his hands all covered in liver.  
  
The door of the greenhouse opened, and a very dishevelled Malfoy came out. His hair was all stained with mud and his robes torn at the arm, from which spilled a trail of blood. Though limping, he held his head arrogantly high. The proud git, Harry thought.  
  
It took them three hours to control the plant, which happened to be six feet tall and had two rows of sharp teeth. They also discovered that there was one thing the plant liked more than liver, and that was, much to our heroes' dismay, young wizards' flesh.  
  
"Let's owl the obliviators. We've finished here," Harry said. The greenhouse was almost destroyed, pieces of raw meat and broken pots scattered everywhere. He checked his watch nervously. "It took more time than expected."  
  
"Afraid your date won't wait for the Wonderboy?" Malfoy sneered.  
  
"No, in fact I have plans for dinner," he looked carefully for the blond man's reaction. "With Hermione." Half a true is not a lie, and he doesn't need to know, Harry thought. Malfoy didn't even blink. Good. Harry decided to take a step further.  
  
"She's a wonderful cook, you know," he lied. Hermione was at cooking what Ron was at being sensitive. She had almost poisoned him once with an attempt at Spanish omelette. But Malfoy didn't need to know that, either.  
  
"No. In fact, I don't know. What is more," he paused, "I don't care." He turned on the tap and started washing the dirt from his hands.  
  
"I see. Then why did you kiss her?" Harry smiled devilishly. Just as he expected, Malfoy froze at the spot. Ever since Hermione had told her story, Harry had been waiting patiently for the opportunity to throw him that very question. She would probably kill Harry, but it was worth it just to see Malfoy so pissed off.  
  
Draco's mind froze the moment Harry spoke his question. It was a memory he had long ago forced to the depths of his brain. Since he had first touched the warm lips of Hermione in the Hogwarts library, he knew the feeling that erupted then had to be hidden and forgotten. And Potter had to be the one to bring all those memories back. Damn Potter, he pissed him off so much.  
  
"Tell me Potter, why does it bother you so much if I kissed your little girfriend a trillion years ago?" He suppressed the urge to punch the bespectacled git in the nose, but he could not conceal the spite filling each of his words.  
  
"It is not the fact that you kissed her that annoys me. It's the fact that she still remembers." Harry walked out of the kitchen and the house, slightly stunned. Had it been his imagination, or had Malfoy had acted as if a bit... jealous? Over him and Hermione? But that was ridiculous. He shook his head disbelievingly. No way, it must have been the overexposure to liver vapours.  
  
"It needs more pepper." Ginny turned to Hermione with the wooden spoon full of a steamy red sauce. "Try and tell me what you think."  
  
"Uhm, well, I think...." Hermione licked the tomato stains off her lips. The doorbell rang, and she hurried to open it. Saved by the bell, she thought. If she ever tried to help with the sauce, it would probably end up as a thick, grubby substance. Potions were easy, just mixing the exact quantity of elements at the right time. But cooking defied all the rules of logic for Hermione. She was the cooking version of poor Neville in Potions with Snape.  
  
She opened the door to a clean and showered Harry, carrying a baguette wrapped in brown paper.  
  
"I thought you would be bringing some wine." Hermione frowned and took the French bread.  
  
"I don't want you to be drunk before nine. Remember we're to meet Ron at the Leaky Cauldron."  
  
"The dream team's exclusive monthly meetings, uhm?" Ginny asked.  
  
"They're not exclusive, you can come if you want to, Gin." Harry smiled at the youngest Weasley. People usually referred to her as "the fourth element" or the "baby Weasley", but she had surely grown to become a beautiful woman, with that mane of red hair framing her peach skin. Harry had grown accustomed to talking to her of things that his other friends couldn't understand, usually concerning his nightmares of dark veils and red eyes. Sometimes he wondered how she could remain so vital and happy, with all the dark thoughts he knew still haunted her dreams.  
  
"Sure, spend the evening with my brother talking endlessly about Quidditch and how orange is in fashion again. I guess I can figure out more interesting things to do," she said, looking Harry directly in the eye.  
  
He didn't know why he had to blush that very same moment. He turned to the cupboard and took out some plates to set the table. His stomach growled audibly. He hadn't felt like eating after all the liver chopping, and that had been some eight hours ago.  
  
"Hermione," Harry called, "there's an owl by the window. I think it's Foxy."  
  
She went to the window and opened it, allowing the bird to come in. Then she unfolded the letter, and a crease apeared in her brow. "I've got to go; Stephen needs me to talk about a fund raising event that has been presented to the WMCA."  
  
"Fund raising? That's wonderful, Hermione. Who's organizing?" Ginny asked happily.  
  
"Well," she looked at Harry, "I don't know yet."  
  
"How could you not know?" Harry eyed her curiously.  
  
"Uhm, it's difficult to explain. I better get going." She looked at her friends apologetically. "I hope you don't mind, but it's important. I'll see you at nine, Harry. Ginny, stay as long as you like, and don't forget to put on the warding spells when you leave."  
  
"Yes mum," Ginny chanted. "I'll leave some of the sauce for you in the fred," she called after Hermione and closed the apartment door.  
  
"It's fridge Gin, fridge," Harry laughed.  
  
"Uhm, whatever."  
  
"The pasta was amazing." Harry left the napkin on the table, feeling completely full.  
  
Ginny collected the plates and left them on the sink. "You'll say it was a four forks pasta?" she smiled.  
  
"I don't know what you women have with rating everything. Is it really necessary?"  
  
"What do you mean?" Ginny eyed him curiously.  
  
"It's everywhere, you know. There's this rating of restaurants, with forks and stars and so on. And novels or films, they also have a rating."  
  
"Yeah, General, Parent Guidance and so on. But it's not only a girl thing, you know." Ginny turned to Harry, hands resting on her hips.  
  
"Sure, though I've never seen a man rating kisses."  
  
"Kisses? How can you rate a kiss?" She was really curious now.  
  
Harry could not remember the different scales that Lavender and Parvati had proposed to Hermione. "I guess just as you can rate everything else."  
  
"Uhm, I see." Ginny slowly walked to where he was standing. She was wearing a playful smile on her lips that made Harry's stomach twist into a knot.  
  
"So I guess this could be rated as a General public kiss." She tiptoed and kissed Harry on the cheek. He felt a sudden heat rise to his face, and for a moment wondered if he could go hide his head under the sand like ostriches. Instead, he looked into her blue eyes.  
  
"I guess so," he muttered. A voice from the back of his head told him what was the most appropriate step to follow in an occasion like this. But did he want to take it? His heart was hammering hard in his chest, and his eyes had found their way to her lips. To do it or not to do it, that had always been the question, hadn't it?  
  
"And," he licked his lips instinctively, "how would you rate this?" He leaned in and brushed his lips softly with those of Ginny, which were warm and inviting. He made a mental note to thank Malfoy for coming up with the best line ever.  
  
Ginny opened her eyes, which she had unconsciously closed. "I guess that can be a Parent Guidance kiss, as it was on the mouth." She looked up at Harry, who hadn't decided between feeling extremely scared or extremely happy.  
  
"Next rate is PG-13," she said, never moving her eyes from him. She didn't have to wait long for the man to take her up on her invitation and draw her into a much more passionate kiss. Her legs seemed to have turn to jelly, so she grabbed his shoulders to keep from falling.  
  
They broke apart some minutes later, completely breathless. Harry knew he had crossed the line between Ginny and him, and that they would never be friends like before. But even as it dawned on him, he felt it didn't bother him so much. He scanned her eyes for a sign of fear or regret, finding none.  
  
"What did you say was the next category?" he said seductively.  
  
"I'll show you," she smiled wickedly while grabbing him by the collar, leading him to know the deepest meaning of the word 'restricted'.  
  
Hermione tapped her fingers on the wooden table impatiently. She looked at the bar, where Ron was having an animated chat with Tom, the bartender, the greatest fan of the Cannons after Ron himself.  
  
Her stomach growled audibly and she reached for some peanuts. She had missed a splendid dinner because of Stephen's owl. Of course, he had been delighted to know of the rich ladies in quest of a cause and wanted to discuss their whole proceeding. He said it was the perfect opportunity to work together for the future of the poorly treated elves and misunderstood werewolves' cause. A great opportunity for the further bond of the different classes. Stephen was such a pedant. By no means was he going to meet the fund-raisers; he'd bore their pants off.  
  
Loretta suggested threatening them with a domestic elves strike, or even better, to made the old spinsters drunk and force them to loosen their purses a bit. But Loretta wasn't especially known for her subtlety, it was a widely known fact.  
  
In the end, they decided Hermione would be in charge of the meeting with the would-be fund-raisers. Two hours and a spoiled dinner for a decision that could have been made in ten minutes. Hermione reached again for the peanuts and stuffed a handful into her mouth.  
  
She looked at the door and back at her watch, beginning to get worried. Harry was fifteen minutes late, and Harry was never late for no reason. He might have had an accident, or suffered an attack. He might be beaten, helpless, in the middle of a deserted street, with no-one to attend his desperate cries for help. Or he might be standing at the Leaky Cauldron's door with a dishevelled look and his hair messier than normal. Hermione gasped at her friend's state, confirming her worst thoughts. He had been attacked. So why did he have that stupid smile plastered on his face?  
  
"What happened, Harry?" she asked while Harry took a seat in front of her. "You were attacked? Who did it? Are you hurt?"  
  
"What? Who was attacked?" Ron came from the bar, taking a seat next to Hermione.  
  
"No one," Harry said nervously.  
  
"Then why were you late? And why are you looking as if a hippogriff glomped you?" Hermione looked at Harry questioningly. She was sure he was trying not to worry them.  
  
Harry blushed beet red and kept silent, his mind racing for an appropriate answer to satisfy both Ron and Hermione. "I fell asleep," he said. "I fell asleep and woke up late, so I came here... running. That's why I look flustered. Yep, that's it." Ron seemed to buy his excuse, as he never was the questioning friend. That was Hermione's work, and she was peering at him through narrowed eyes.  
  
"See Hermione, you are a paranoid," Ron patted her back. She had her eyes still on Harry, who was trying an unconvincing smile.  
  
"Ron, why don't you get Harry a pint? He must be thirsty with all the running," she asked sweetly. Immediately, the red-head got up and headed to the bar to happily resume his conversation with Tom. Then she turned and asked Harry in her most third-degree tone, "Spit it out. Now, what has happened?"  
  
"I have already told you!" he said innocently.  
  
"You are a horrible liar, Harry Potter. You come here all flustered, your clothes dishevelled, your hair all messed up –more than usual, I mean-, and now you have that stupid grin on your face as if you had just..." she stopped abruptly and looked at the black-haired boy in shock.  
  
"No. Harry, tell me you didn't."  
  
He forced an apologetic grimace, sensing the upcoming storm. "I can't."  
  
"FOR GOD'S SAKE!" she shouted. Ron looked at them questioningly from the bar, but seeing no problem, began chatting again. "For God's sake, Harry," Hermione said in barely a whisper. "What did you do to Ginny?"  
  
Harry snorted loudly, but seeing that Hermione was not joking, he turned serious. "I guess it's more what she did to me," Harry blushed. "And I don't regret it, if you want to know." He again had that stupid groofy grin, the one that Hermione began to find really annoying.  
  
"I don't understand it, Harry. Some weeks ago you were all depressed for Cho, and now..."  
  
"You know I was over Cho before this happened; I'm happy for her. I try to go on with my life."  
  
"But what about Ginny? You know she has always liked you; it's not fair to take advantage just because you're feeling down."  
  
"I'm not taking advantage of her! And I like Ginny genuinely," he protested.  
  
"So you discover you like Ginny, just like that, after all these years?"  
  
"Yes," he simply said. "Sometimes you just don't realize that what you were looking for is exactly in front of you." He said those words with sincerity, as a light smile spread across his face. She could tell he was convinced of it, so there was no point in fussing further.  
  
"Maybe you're right," she sighed. "I just would have liked for you to discover your love in your own bed," she laughed.  
  
"What makes you think we reached the bed?" he smiled mischievously, obtaining a shocked look from his friend.  
  
"If you hurt her, I will kill you," she threatened. "And you don't want to know what Ron will do if you hurt her. Never mind, Ron will kill you anyway when he finds out."  
  
"When I find out what?" Ron left the three pints at the table, looking at his friend amusedly. He didn't seem to notice how Harry's face had drained all colour.  
  
"There was this woman, going on how the Cannons sucked..." Hermione started. It was not the first time her natural, though often misused, ability for lying had saved one of her friends' asses. 


	7. Under the Table

NEVER BEEN KISSED LIKE THAT  
  
Chapter seven:  
  
"Under the Table"  
  
Draco rested his head on his hands in frustration. "I told you, Fudge. That witch is more clever than you think."  
  
The Minister eyed the blonde man with suspicion. "I hope you're not getting too fond of Miss Granger, Malfoy."  
  
"Don't be ridiculous," Draco laughed half-heartedly. "This is just work." It had been more than six weeks since his first encounter with Hermione, and they had shared lots of coffees and interminable chats down at the Watercolours Café. He had managed to discretely get some useful information for Fudge, but at the same time, little by little, he was getting to really know her. The passion she brought to everything she did, the way her eyes sparkled when she talked about the WMCA, the smile that spread on her face when she referred to her friends. Draco felt a slight pang of jealousy, wondering when was the last time he had done something with such feeling. He had always gotten what he wanted, but this time was different. He wanted to feel, just like she did.  
  
Fudge snapped him out of his reveries. "So how far did you get with your investigations? "  
  
"I managed to break most of the protective spells, all but one. As I told you, she's a clever witch.  
  
"Some seconds after I entered her flat, I became petrified. And this is not any kind of spell I know how to reverse." He remembered the embarrassment he had to endure when a neighbour had found him petrified on the doorstep of Hermione's apartment and thought he was having a heart attack. Helpfully, the old woman had taken him by the arms and left him lying on the corridor's carpeted floor. The worst part was that, by the time he recovered his movement capability, the old woman's lips were firmly clasped around his mouth, performing CPR, and blowing her rotten garlic breath into his lungs. He had, of course, obliviated the woman, though he unluckily could not obliviate himself.  
  
Ignoring Draco's face of disgust, Fudge continued. "We must hurry up. Grupnick the Elder is on his deathbed. You know, the chief goblin who signed an agreement with the WMCA to support their cause in every instance."  
  
"If he dies, the document will be no longer valid. That's good news," Draco said.  
  
"Au contraire, my friend. Old Grupnick was not a fool. The agreement was magically sealed, and it established binding responsibilities to the successor in charge, the future chief goblin. He, and only he can ever break its binding spell."  
  
"That is Brodik. I know for sure he'd be more than delighted to break it once it's in his hands," Draco pointed out.  
  
"Sure he would, if only he could. Grupnik, though old, is not blind to the fact of where Brodik's loyalties lie. That's why he entrusted the agreement's only copy to the hands of the WMCA, to the hands of that Granger woman," he growled.  
  
"She has them on a tight rein," Draco smirked. Hermione was no fool.  
  
"Once we've got the contract, we'll grant a post for goblins in the Wizengamot. That'll shut up the public claims for magical creatures representation. Without the goblins' support, the WMCA is nothing. NOTHING!" he laughed in a very maniac fashion. Draco rolled his eyes; the Minister could be so theatrical sometimes.  
  
"That ridiculous committee. I would never, by no means, give in to granting the rights to underbreds such as Centaurs or Werewolves. They're far too dangerous. About house-elfs, I don't really care, they're so insignificant, after all. I might grant them some liberties," he pondered. "Uhm, on second thought, I think I won't. Definitely, I won't give that annoying bushy- haired chit the pleasure." The monologue was starting to make Draco very anxious to leave the room. The old man surely was off his rocker.  
  
"We must be careful, though. If any of this information sees the light, we're finished." He turned to Draco. "Both of us."  
  
"But let's not think about that," Fudge said gleefully. "Once we get the bloody document, everything will be fine. Most importantly, we'll become immensely rich!" He was of course, referring to the generosity goblins had promised in exchange for the future Wizengamot post.  
  
"I'm already immensely, stupidly rich, Fudge," Draco said lazily, as if it was a matter of no importance.  
  
"Sure you are. But you are not here for the galleons, are you? You are the spitting image of your father. There's one thing a Malfoy wants more than wealth; Power. I'll give you an influential position inside the Ministry. After my retirement, I will recommend you as the next Minister of Magic!"  
  
Malfoy rested his head back on the leather couch and smiled inwardly. Power would make him feel.  
  
It was past midday when Hermione drove her red Beetletm along the hardly visible path covered with snow. She checked again the strange note in which Malfoy had written down the instructions to get to the place where she would meet the potential fund-raisers. She stopped the car and looked around. Getting lost in a forest in the middle of Scotland was the same as getting lost in the middle of nowhere. Malfoy would regret it if this was a prank.  
  
She exited the car and read the note one more time. She had followed the instructions correctly, she thought, for the path ended just there. Now she had to find an old oak tree resembling a snake. Typical of Malfoy, she thought. But to her surprise, the oak was right in front of her, its core and branches twisted as a snake's head. It was amazing, though also a bit creepy. She approached the tree and reluctantly introduced her hand into what must have been the snake's mouth, as the note commanded.  
  
"Good morning. How can I help you?" A sudden squeaky voice came from the tree. Hermione jumped backwards, startled.  
  
"I... I'm here for an appointment with Mister Malfoy," she said, unsure of where to direct her voice. "I'm Hermione Granger."  
  
"Welcome, Miss Granger," the squeaky voice said. "Mister Malfoy will be informed of your arrival." And with that, to Hermione's astonishment, an enormous iron door materialized in front of her. Behind it, there was a path leading to the most splendid mansion she had ever set her eyes on. She locked the car and proceeded slowly to the house.  
  
In the middle of the path she encountered a house elf, whom she supposed was there to walk her to the entrance.  
  
"Hello, I'm Miss Granger," she addressed the elf. "I'm sure you've heard of the activities of the committee I work for." For Hermione, no opportunity was bad to gain new allies.  
  
The small elf let out a high-pitched giggle. "Every elf in the country knows who is you," it smiled. "I is going to inform Master Malfoy you is here."  
  
Master Malfoy? Hermione glanced from the elf to the mansion. So this was Malfoy manor? She thought. In her imagination, she had pictured Draco's home as some kind of dark, gothic castle that never saw the sun. But this was the most charming of places, with the green ivy covering the stone walls and the snow-covered vast land and forest of the surroundings.  
  
"Master Malfoy is by the lake," the elf said. So there is also a lake? Hermione wondered.  
  
"Thank you, I will inform your master myself, if you tell me in which direction the lake is." The elf showed Hermione the path to the said place and left for the house.  
  
When she reached the bend leading to the lake, a most appealing image caught her eye. Malfoy was ice-skating, dressed in black pants and a black wool sweater that contrasted nicely with his pale features. She simply stood there, leaning on a tree, mesmerized by his graceful movements. He seemed so relaxed, with the cool breeze gently whipping his silky hair, his cheeks and nose flushed from the cold. He rushed to the centre of the ice and started spinning round, standing on one skate. It was nothing very elaborate or professional, but Hermione thought he just looked so free, without the cloud that usually hung over his brow whenever they met. She couldn't take her eyes from him, from his silvery blonde hair, his straight and manly jawline, his grey eyes, looking piercingly into hers.  
  
She gasped when she noticed that Malfoy had stopped skating and was staring at her curiously. Her cheeks flushed from embarrassment. In two long strokes, he was by the edge of the lake.  
  
"Morning, Granger. Enjoying the sight?" he smirked.  
  
"You have a wonderful estate here," she said. It was pretty clear he had not been referring to the Manor, but she was not in the mood for one of his let's-see-who's-smarter games. She had come there for business, and the knot forming in her stomach was only a product of the anticipation of meeting the rich fund-raisers. That was it, nothing more. It had nothing to do with the way his eyes sparkled, or the creamy texture of his... stop it! She kicked herself mentally.  
  
"Want to try?" With a wave of his wand, a pair of skates appeared leaning on a fallen trunk.  
  
"I don't know how to ice-skate," she shrugged.  
  
"You spent seven years at Hogwarts, which has one of the most suitable lakes for ice-skating during winter, and you never tried?" Malfoy arched an eyebrow in disbelief. "Did you spend all your leisure time in the library, or what?" he laughed.  
  
Hermione didn't answer and looked at her feet, embarrassed. Malfoy realised he had been right and stopped laughing, feeling quite stupid.  
  
"I didn't mean it that way," he apologised. "I can teach you, if you like. There's enough time till the tea party. A very decent amount of suitable rich victims will be waiting for a cause to spend their husband's money on. I bet you can do with a bit of pre-hunting relaxation." He offered his hand to her, flashing one of his best smiles. That did it.  
  
"I guess it's never too late to try new things," Hermione decided.  
  
Malfoy proved to be a good teacher, for in less than ten minutes, she was sliding over the iced surface of the lake. She let him guide her movements, smiling all the way, her hand firmly clasped in his. It was quite a liberating experience, to let herself slide away while the cool breeze cut into her cheeks, making her feel alive.  
  
At the count of three, he let go of her hand, and Hermione started skating by herself, her mirthful giggles echoing in the surrounding forest. His hand still kept the warmth of hers, and every time their eyes met, a prickly feeling grew in Draco's stomach. I must be hungry, he thought, checking the time on his watch.  
  
"I think I've got the hang of it!" No sooner had Hermione said this than she slipped on the ice and fell backwards. Draco paled and rushed to where she lay motionless, thinking she might have hurt herself badly. Her eyes were closed and her brows furrowed, as if in deep pain.  
  
"Hermione, are you Ok? Does it hurt?" Draco asked worriedly. Hermione nodded and remained silent. "Where?"  
  
"In my ego," she said, opening her eyes. It was the first time Malfoy had called her by her first name, and it had caught her off-guard. "You saw me making a fool of myself. Now you will tease me endlessly for being so clumsy," she pouted.  
  
Draco let out a sigh of relief; she was not hurt, after all. "You were not that clumsy, though you can do with a bit more of practice." Her reached for her hair and stoked one of her cinnamon curls, spread in the ice at odd angles. Her warm brown eyes fixed on his, and for a moment, he completely forgot breathing.  
  
When Hermione felt his hand caressing her hair, a chill ran through her spine, though it had nothing to do with being sprawled on the frozen surface of the lake. Her stare moved from his bright greyish eyes to his mouth. Unconsciously, she parted her lips; her mouth had gone completely dry.  
  
"Master Malfoy!" an elf squealed from the edge of the forest. Draco jerked his hand back from her hair and turned to the elf. "The party is ready. Your guests will be arriving in few minutes." Having said that, it disappeared down the path, leaving Draco and Hermione alone.  
  
"We better get going," he said, helping her to stand up. The soft manners Draco had shown some seconds before had completely disappeared, the dark cloud set again in his brow.  
  
Hermione followed him to the house in silence. There was no denying something had happened down in the lake, but had he felt it too? She wondered.  
  
"Welcome to Malfoy Manor," Draco said solemnly as he opened the front door. Hermione stood still by the threshold, admiring the magnificence of the mansion.  
  
"You won't turn to stone if you enter, you know," he said.  
  
"I know I won't," she retorted confidently, pointing at her neck.  
  
Draco's eyes widened at the sudden revelation, but he managed to conceal his glee. Hanging from a silver chain around her neck, there was a reddish- brown stone. He recognised it at once, a Perpetrus from the Nile. How cold had he been so daft as not to figure it out? The magical stone protected the bearer against any kind of petrifying spells or charms. She had handed him the key to enter her apartment.  
  
A broad smile spread in his face. "Ready for the big heist?  
  
"I'm always ready," she said, and they headed for the greenhouse where the party was being held.  
  
It had only taken one hour for Hermione to discern three things about tea parties in Malfoy manor.  
  
First, the tea hadn't shown up yet. It seemed that rich ladies' delicate palates were only satisfied with the finest French champagne. In bucketloads. Literally, they were the hardest drinkers Hermione had met in her life. And that was saying something after attending the celebrations when the Cannons won the British Quidditch Cup for the first time in eighty years last October. High society witches' lives had to be really boring, she thought through her third glass of the fizzy liquid.  
  
Second, about the party thing itself, this seemed for the most part one of those Muggle New Year's Eve macroparties, for there were at least sixty witches in there. The greenhouse turned out to be an enormous glass- panelled building, provided with the most luxurious delicatessen, placed in large buffet tables surrounding the exotic plants.  
  
And third, she would have realised all of it in less time had it not been for the amount of champagne she had gulped to socialize with the party of alcohol-proof witches.  
  
"I'd like to introduce you to the President of the Social Affairs Committee, Granger. She is an outstanding lady among these witches, and if you obtain her sympathy, the funds will be granted for sure." Draco led Hermione towards the big palm tree in the centre of the greenhouse.  
  
"I'll put on my best smile to bring another old drunkard bat to the cause," she grimaced.  
  
Draco eyed her thoughtfully, as if to make a remark, but decided against it. When they reached the spot, he put a hand on the shoulder of a blonde woman clad in lilac silk robes, who turned to face them.  
  
"Mother," he paused for effect, "I'd like to introduce you to Miss Granger, responsible for the Welfare for all Magical Creatures Association." Hermione's jaw dropped to her feet. She had not called Malfoy's mum an old drunkard bat, had she? She winced.  
  
"Narcissa Malfoy, President of the Social Affairs Committee," the woman said, offering her hand. "Pleased to meet you, Miss Granger." Hermione shook hands with her and turned to Malfoy. He had fled, leaving the two women alone. Nasty trick, she thought.  
  
"So, Social Affairs Committee's President," Hermione said nervously, cursing Malfoy under her breath.  
  
As it turned out, Narcissa Malfoy was a very intelligent and charming woman, far away from the image Hermione had of her. She had married Lucius Malfoy very young and boldly confessed that the most remarkable thing her husband had done in his whole life was dying to save Draco. As a practical woman, she had never seen the point in all the obsolete pureblood's prejudices that had brought so many disgraces to the wizarding world.  
  
Therefore, it turned out that Hermione had Narcissa's total support before even asking for it. They would work on an informative campaign for the WMCA and other fund-raising events. Malfoy had been right; with her support, Hermione would reach the most select and influential of the wizarding society. When Narcissa left to greet Mrs. Parkinson, Hermione found herself alone again in the midst of a sea full of unknown people.  
  
She scanned the greenhouse for Draco, but he was nowhere to be seen. She couldn't blame him, for she would have disappeared long ago too. A solitary bottle of champagne lay unopened in a far table, and Hermione decided she could adopt it for good. After all, she had succeeded with her goals, and it called for some celebration.  
  
The most curious sight met her eyes as she took the bottle and a crystal glass. A solitary hand with no visible owner was searching the table until it found a tray of smoked salmon and crackers, took it, and disappeared with it under the table. Hermione blinked twice, wondering if she had consumed enough alcohol to suffer from hallucinations. She walked decidedly to the other side of the buffet, checking that no one noticed her as she lowered down under the table.  
  
"Gotcha!" She startled the young man crumpled under the pink mantelpiece.  
  
"Gone into hiding?" she asked.  
  
"It seems so. I hate tea parties," Draco shrugged.  
  
"I don't blame you. Can I join?" He nodded and magically enlarged the place for them to fit comfortably, without changing its outer appearance.  
  
Under the table, hidden from the rest of the world, they ate salmon and drank champagne in celebration. The only difference was that, while Hermione toasted for the success of the WMCA, Draco did it for the ultimate downfall of it, and the beginning of his political career. It was strange that, though things were going as planned, he still had the strange feeling that there was something wrong with it, though he could not put his finger on it.  
  
They sat Indian-style and made fun of most of the party attendees, both agreeing they were the most boring bunch of witches in the whole of England.  
  
"Your mother seems quite different from them all," she said honestly.  
  
"She is different," he smiled.  
  
"Just like you." Hermione could not believe she had just said that aloud. "I mean, you're not the standard type. Kind of... well..." This was not getting better. When did I became sixteen again? She scolded herself.  
  
Draco sat still in front of her, amusement clear in his eyes. The tingling sensation was back at the pit of his stomach, and it definitely was not hunger.  
  
"It's that you look just like her, for the beautiful blonde hair and... urgh, I mean..." Ok, now shut your big mouth up, Hermione thought. She blushed deeply and concentrated on her feet. She needed more champagne, right now.  
  
Hermione reached for the bottle while Draco leaned in with the same intention. Their hands clasped around it at the same time, and Draco could only think of how soft and warm her skin was against his hand. Before he could stop himself, he sputtered, "I think you've got a beautiful hair, too." She looked at him in amazement with her almond-shaped cinnamon eyes.  
  
Everything became very still at once, their rhythmic breathing the only present sounds. As if attracted by a force stronger than gravity, they felt themselves pulled forwards, colliding into each other's mouths in a shattering kiss. Hermione's mind reeled at the touch of his soft lips, a surge of electricity shaking her whole body.  
  
Draco was devoid of all thought; he only concentrated on the sweetness of her mouth as he deepened the kiss. His heartbeat accelerated as she emitted a soft moan. Just then, he came to his senses and ended the kiss abruptly, jumping back as if burned by a fire. She sat right in front of him, caught off balance at the sudden reaction.  
  
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to..." he started.  
  
"Uh, oh, it's ok." She was still confused and dizzy from the sensation of his lips on hers.  
  
"No, listen. I didn't mean this to happen. This is not... right." Hermione's heart sank with his words. "I can't do this. I'm sorry, please accept my apologies."  
  
"Erm, don't worry, Malfoy, it was nothing," she lied, "just a product of too much champagne." Let him have it his way, she thought. She wouldn't pine after someone obviously not interested, least of all Draco Malfoy. She might be a cold ass, but no doubt you could freeze hell in Malfoy's.  
  
"We better get going," he said, avoiding her gaze. He was acting stupid with the person that was standing between him and his dream. But the way his heart had raced at the mere contact with her skin had scared him out of his wits.  
  
Narcissa had invited Hermione to spend the night at the manor, but she refused because Crookshanks might be crawling the walls with hunger that late. She did agree, however, to Floo home, for she was not in the best condition to drive her car. Her red Beetletm would appear parked at her building door in London the very next day.  
  
The incident under the table was silently agreed to remain unmentioned from that point onwards, though it was far from forgotten. It was what one might call an agreed and conscious denial. Draco left before sunset, for he had a Portkey booked to Paris.  
  
"It seems your son is missing his life in France," Hermione commented. She knew Malfoy had been travelling almost weekly to Paris during the weekends, for they had shared impressions about the city that she had known in her holidays.  
  
Narcissa eyed the younger woman with a playful smile spread on her face. "Well, that's not the main reason for his continuous trips. He's got certain commitments there."  
  
Not knowing what the woman had meant with commitments, Hermione threw a pinch of Floo powder in the fireplace and stepped inside. She waved Mrs. Malfoy goodbye, and the next moment she was in her apartment, greeted by a hungry ginger cat. 


	8. Aftermath

NEVER BEEN KISSED LIKE THAT  
  
Chapter Eight:  
  
"Aftermath"  
  
Draco's eyes fluttered open, and he stared into the white ceiling of the bedroom, adjusting to the growing clarity. Images of last night kept flooding and flashing through his enormous headache. He had drunk too much. He had tried to drink his thoughts away, but they were still there, haunting his days as well.  
  
Something stirred at his left, and out of the corner of his eye he could distinguish the blonde curls and body of a fast-asleep woman. Sliding carefully out of bed, he made his way to the balcony, the fresh air of February cooling his warm silk pyjama bottoms. With a flick of his wand, he lit a cigarette, inhaling deeply at the magnificent sight of the Champs Elysées.  
  
He had rushed hastily from the manor, cursing himself for what had happened under that damned table. He was supposed to come near Granger to take information from her, to get his hands on the binding agreement with the goblins, to use her to make his way up the Ministry ladder. But instead he had kissed her, and she had kissed him back.  
  
"It is not the fact that you kissed her that annoys me. It's the fact that she still remembers." The echo of Potter's words had been haunting him for days. And it was wrong, terribly wrong. No matter if she was the green-eyed git's girlfriend or if he was working against her, he too remembered that bloody kiss five years before, for he had never felt anything similar again until last night.  
  
"Draco?" A sleepy, French-accented voice came from behind. "Are you smoking? I think you'd quit that horrible vice of yours." There was a clear hint of annoyance in the words.  
  
"I'm thinking," he said without turning back.  
  
"At..." she reached for the alarm clock, "seven in the morning of a bloody Saturday? Mon Dieu, Draco, I'm freezing!"  
  
He smashed the remainder of the cigarette on the rail and entered the bedroom, closing the balcony door behind him. The headache was pounding hard on his temples.  
  
"What's up with you, cheri? You're acting strange lately." She sat on the bed, eyeing the blonde man with concern.  
  
"It's nothing, Isabelle," he said curtly.  
  
"But you were drunk yesterday, you came to the bed stumbling and stinking of firewhiskey. I know something's disturbing you," she pleaded. "Is it because you're going into politics? You don't need to worry, mon chou, you'll do it wonderfully. Father thinks..."  
  
"Really, Isabelle, I don't give a damn what your father thinks. I wouldn't care less even if he were Merlin himself," he spat angrily.  
  
The petite Frenchwoman pursed her lips in a pout and asked tentatively "Is it because of me?"  
  
"No, it's not because of you. I'm all right, now go back to sleep." She threw the bed covers over her and did as directed, while Draco gathered his clothes and left for the kitchen to find a big jug of orange juice.  
  
Isabelle Durand, twenty, was Jean-Jacques Durand's only daughter. She had been raised in the elite wizarding lyceés in Paris, attended Beaxbautons School and went to La Sorbona to study Languages for a year. She was rich, beautiful, refined and lively. The fact that her father was the French Minister of Magic was definitely a convenient asset to her person. She was the perfect girl to become Draco Malfoy's wife. Their engagement would be made public on Isabelle's birthday, on the 27th.  
  
Draco's stomach revolted. This was what he wanted; he had chosen his path. This was what he needed, to finally get rid of his ghosts. The pieces were starting to fit in the intricate puzzle he had planned for his life. He would finally commit to the expectations once placed on him; he wouldn't be a disappointment again.  
  
But at the bottom of his soul, he knew there was a piece amiss, something he could not put his finger on. A warning that made him sick at the pit of his stomach every time he took a step further into his plan, a warning that flashed every time he remembered the warm breath of Hermione Granger against his mouth.  
  
He gulped the orange juice and shook his mind away from those thoughts. He had made up his mind, and nothing or no one would take him away from his aim.  
  
"Ouch! That's going to leave a mark!" Hermione hollered after the retreating redheaded child giggling down the corridor.  
  
She had finally decided to pay a visit to Ron and Luna's new house, near Ottery St. Catchpole. Both Luna and Ron's families lived in the same town, and they decided it was the best place to start a family of their own. The house turned out to be a lovely cottage that conveyed very much the homely air of the Burrow, though smaller and less crumpled. Ron's work as professional Keeper for the Cannons was paying quite well.  
  
She rubbed the spot where Sam –or was it Erik? –had kicked her. It was Harry's great idea to bring some sweets to bribe the infamous twins into good manners, the poor innocent man. Now they were locked in a house with two hyperactive, nasty children, only now they also were on a sugar high. Limping slightly, she reached the kitchen, where Luna was preparing some Roast Beef for dinner.  
  
"Here, you have the wine, Luna." Hermione left the bottle she had been carrying when assaulted by the shin-cracker twin.  
  
"I can't really believe Narcissa Malfoy is helping you out with the WMCA," Luna said in her usual dreamy way. "Lucius might be turning over in his grave."  
  
"Actually, it was her son who insisted on introducing me to her," Hermione mumbled through a carrot stick.  
  
Luna's eyes were so wide Hermione feared they would just pop out of their sockets. "Draco Malfoy? That's certainly a revelation. Did you know that the Malfoys were suspected of having an illegal breed of Crumpled Horned..."  
  
"Luna!" Harry interrupted, so she didn't notice Hermione rolling her eyes at her usual improbable fantasies.  
  
"Could you possibly tell your kids to get off my legs? I just gave them all the sweets I had, but they won't leave me!" Sam and Erik were stubbornly clasped, one on each of Harry's legs, so he had difficulty with every single step.  
  
"My darlings, if you don't leave Uncle Harry alone right now," she said sweetly, reaching for the large knife with which she was chopping the vegetables, "I'll chop you to bits and feed you to the Grindylows in the pond, see?" she smiled brightly at her sons, flashing the sharp knife's blade. This small chat had an immediate effect, for they freed Harry's legs, running out to the garden.  
  
Harry was able to mutter a shocked "Thanks."  
  
"I was not serious," Luna winked. "But they don't need to know. Feeding the Grindylows is the only thing that can put a stop to those two these days."  
  
"Good to know," Hermione muttered, making a mental note to get some child psychology books for Luna's birthday.  
  
"So, how it's going with the YMCA?" Harry asked Hermione, while placing the plates on the table.  
  
She threw him a dirty look. "W, Harry." He looked at her questioningly.  
  
"Oh, forget it," she rolled her eyes, "we're doing fine." She continued folding the napkins and placing them at each of the plates' left.  
  
"I heard a bit of your conversation with Luna in the kitchen."  
  
"Eavesdropping now, are we?" she teased.  
  
"Not really, I happened to come nearby. Yet I had the mad impression that Draco Malfoy was sort of helping you out." He looked at her with his brows raised, waiting for an explanation.  
  
"No, he's not helping me out," she said warily.  
  
"Of course, that would be ridiculous." Harry let out a light snort, for it was plainly stupid to think a Malfoy would help with her committee.  
  
"In fact it's his mother, Narcissa, who's helping," she said through narrowed eyes. Her friend was standing before her, looking stunned. "Grow up Harry, Lucius was gone for good five years ago, and Narcissa Malfoy is not the woman you think. I won't hear anything more about it. I know you're biased by our school years, but it's over now, things are different, see?"  
  
"Ok, I won't say anything more about it," he promised.  
  
"And?" She walked to stand in front of Harry and looked up at him threateningly. Her height only reached to under his chin, but she could be a menacing sight nonetheless.  
  
"And I'll try not to be so biased in the future?" He gave her a small smile, measuring if that was what she was expecting him to say. Good, her stare was softening.  
  
"But you can't deny Malfoy's a gi... AAARGH!" Hermione had taken his ear and was turning it painfully. "Ok, Ok!," he pleaded, "he's a wonderful, charming person with a warm and tender heart."  
  
"There's no need to exaggerate," she let the red ear free, chortling.  
  
"You'll need to put one more plate at the table," Ron said from the dining room's doorframe. He had just returned from the village, where he had gone to buy some things. Next to him was Ginny, a shy smile playing on her lips as she took off her cloak.  
  
Hermione looked from Harry to Ginny, finding identical goofy grins, glassy eyes and pink cheeks in both. They were practically drinking each other with their stares. It was so very evident; she wondered if they wouldn't just start snogging at the dining table if it wasn't for Ron.  
  
"Ahem," she interrupted before that could happen. "I think dinner's ready. Harry, why don't you go find a plate for Ginny? Harry?"  
  
"Eh?" Harry looked at his friend as if he had just noticed her for the first time. "Oh, sure, a plate."  
  
The dinner was fantastic and copious, for it was the home of ever-hungry Ron Weasley. He had been capable of eating the entire bowl of mashed potatoes the twins had ruined with their play dough without even noticing. But it was a good thing he had been so occupied with the food; otherwise, he would have noticed the surreptitious glances between his best friend and his little sister. Everybody knew how sensible Ron was about his female sibling's love affairs.  
  
"Tell me, how's the job, Gin?" Ron asked. "Guess working for Rita Skeeter is not what you expected when you got that post at the Prophet."  
  
"She's quite an abusive boss, you know," she complained, "but at least I've learned lots about the journalist profession with her."  
  
"Rita Skeeter tells nothing but lies, she's making my life hell with all the unwanted publicity she brings on me," Harry glared at her across the table.  
  
"That won't last long, though," she retorted calmly. "'Cause she's planning to retire in two months' time; she's getting married to an Italian businesswizard. And wonder who's taking her post," she grinned.  
  
"Hey Gin, that'll be fantastic!" Ron patted her back enthusiastically. "I'm going for some champagne to celebrate." He left for the kitchen, leaving the others to congratulate Ginny.  
  
"So, how long have you been seeing each other?" Luna asked to Ginny and Harry, who instantly paled.  
  
"What? Why do you...How did you know?" the redhead managed to utter.  
  
"I might seem oblivious sometimes, but I'm not blind," Luna said dreamily, as if it was an understatement. "I just wonder what your brother might think once he discovers it." Harry chose that moment to turn to an unhealthy shade of green.  
  
"Just don't tell him anything, please. I'm waiting for the right moment," Ginny smiled mischievously. "Oh, Harry, don't look at me like that," she reached for her boyfriend's hand. "He would know eventually, you know that. Besides, what do you think he would do?"  
  
Before he could answer the question, Ron emerged from the kitchen carrying a bottle and five tall glasses. Harry instantly jerked his hand away from Ginny's and tried his best to look not really affected by the mental images of what Ron might do if he ever discovered the nature of his relationship with his younger sister.  
  
Ron opened the bottle and poured the fizzy liquid in the glasses, while Hermione looked silently at the patterns the bubbles made in the golden liquid. She had woken up that very morning with a headache from the many bubbles consumed the day before at the tea party. From the bottle of champagne she had shared with Malfoy under a table with a pink tabletop. But they had shared more than that. He said it was wrong, that he didn't mean it to happen, that he couldn't do it. But then, why did it felt so right, so meaningful, and as if he had wanted it? Maybe she had forced him somehow to kiss her, or worse, she had launched into his arms. She was not sure of anything.  
  
"For Ginny and her future as the Daily Prophet star journalist!" Ron's toast woke her up from her daydreaming.  
  
"Aunty Ginny's gotta boyfreng!" One of the twins, Erik, chanted.  
  
Ron glowered at his sister, who seemed lost for words. "I thought you were done with that prick from Flourish and Blotts," he said. Ginny had been going out for a year with Troy, a clerk from a Diagon Alley shop, whom she had found with another woman in bed. In her bed.  
  
"I am, really," she blurted. "The kids are just playing nasty to their poor aunt," she laughed nervously.  
  
"Good, because if I ever see that twit's face again... He thought he could play with you and then dump you for some, some scarlet woman!" Hermione rolled her eyes; Ron was so very old-fashioned about certain things. Not to mention that he was obviously blind to the fact that his sister was an independent woman of twenty-two, and not a helpless eleven-year-old girl anymore.  
  
"If I ever happen to encounter the git who tries to lay his filthy hands on you, I swear I'll..." He didn't have to continue with his ramblings, for at that same moment the glass he was holding shattered into a million pieces from the pressure he was exerting on it.  
  
Harry choked on his champagne and turned a shade of yellowish-green. The poor thing, Hermione thought, repressing a laugh. He was certainly lucky Ron happened to be the thickest the nearer the things were to him. She patted Harry's knee reassuringly from under the table. "You know he barks more than he bites," she whispered.  
  
Luna cleaned up the mess before the twins could get hold of any of the glass bits, and the conversation turned back to normal.  
  
"Hey, Harry, I forgot to ask you," Ron turned to his friend. "You seem quite happy lately. Has some witch finally got under your skin?"  
  
Harry's expression was priceless, and Hermione found difficulty at repressing the new fits of laughter, resulting in incontrollable shakes. This was going to be a long, long evening. 


	9. Through the Looking Glass

NEVER BEEN KISSED LIKE THAT  
  
Chapter nine  
  
"Through the Looking Glass"  
  
The rain outside was melting the snow piled on the corners and roofs of the crumpled buildings of Diagon Alley. Hermione sat at her desk, sucking on her quill, lost in thought. She was considering the many ways she could get an appointment with Fudge. The Minister was playing fishy again, offering excuse after excuse to delay the inevitable.  
  
She was very aware of the aversion Cornelius Fudge had felt for her ever since she had called him a dim-witted, obsolete dictator three years ago in the middle of a Press Conference. Unsurprisingly, that was the end of the affair for the Ministry and the WMCA. But the majority of public opinion since the fall of the Dark Lord and his standards had shifted towards beliefs of unity among all the magical creatures. This was the perfect moment to change the governing, restrictive rules.  
  
Of course, not all the creatures were regarded under the same measure, and there were still some prejudices, but the right path was not always the easy one. Hermione and her colleagues had managed to unite, under the wings of the WMCA, the bulk of those fighting for common rights. She was perfectly aware that their strength resided in their coalition. Fudge and his constant delays were threatening this union. If only she could...  
  
The fluttering of an owl outside the window shook Hermione from her musings. She let the bird in, which was soaking wet.  
  
"There, there." She took Foxy to her cage and placed it by the stove for her to get dry. Through an internal collection, they had managed to buy a second-hand heater. The Goblins had refused to put up any money for it, reasoning that they rarely felt cold. The mean, gold-greedy goblins. Centaurs presented some furs and two freshly hunted rabbits from the forest, while Dobby and Winky produced two pairs of woollen socks. Lupin was left out of the collection because he was not available while experiencing PMS (Pre-Moon Syndrome). All this, together with the wizard and witches' money, was enough to pay for the rusty-looking stove that seemed as if it was likely to collapse at any moment.  
  
Hermione took the parchment and unfolded it; luckily, the sender had had the great idea to place a water-repelling spell on it.  
  
Hiya Herms,  
  
I hope you haven't forgotten what you promised last week, have you? I'm really looking forward to the cineman-thing, you know.  
  
Harry's on duty tonight, so it'll be a girl's night. Meet me at the Watercolours at 6.00, and don't be late!  
  
Love,  
  
Ginny  
  
One of these days, Ginny will manage to spell something Muggle correctly. Cineman? She was her father's child for sure. Hermione had promised the youngest Weasley girl that she would take her to the movies, and the girl was quite in raptures for the event.  
  
She looked at the clock on the wall: 5.10 pm. She had almost one hour left and no more work to do. She took her wand and turned on the magical radio, tuning for her favourite programme, The Wicked Hour. It was a mixture of wizard and Muggle music conducted by a sexy-voiced Latino man called Alfonso Charming.  
  
"Now an all-time hit for the bad boys of the block, looking for the 'Little Green Bag'. For The Wicked Hour... Mr. George Baker..." The voice from the radio purred.  
  
Loretta crossed the room to put some folders in the archive, her hips gently moving to the beat of the song. She flashed Hermione a wink and started humming the melody.  
  
Hermione was laughing at her friend's terrible singing voice when the front door opened, and he walked in. It was like in those movies, when everything is played in slow motion, or so it was in Hermione's head. He came in all dressed in black, his cloak billowing behind him, the fresh scent of wet earth following him. The song fitted him so well, his sexy bad boy smirk playing on his lips. Needless to say, Hermione quit smiling and tried to look as unimpressed as she could, failing miserably.  
  
Damn, Hermione, you don't like him, you don't like him, she repeated her mantra. What's more, he definitely doesn't like you, so control yourself, she thought. But that was easier to say than to do when Draco Malfoy stood in front of her with his silvery hair hanging sleek from the wet raindrops, his eyes the colour of the stormy clouds outside.  
  
"Hello, Granger," he said in his usual drawl. During the weekend, he had sought for the resolution to continue with his plan. He was not letting the apparent weakness that overcame him whenever he was near the bushy-haired know-it-all overcome him.  
  
"A certain respectable witch asked me to give you this as a 'warm-up' for future activities. Don't ask me; I'm just the messenger." He slid a yellow envelope out of his pocket and handed it to her.  
  
Loretta stood in the background, still swinging to the music. "Looking upstairs... Looking behind..." she sang. She turned and looked at Malfoy's behind, giving him an approving nod. Then she mimicked a cat trying to scratch his back, and Hermione managed to disguise her laughter as a fit of coughing.  
  
She reached for the envelope that had Narcissa Malfoy's elegant signature written on top.  
  
"That's working fast. Thanks for bringing it, Malfoy." When she opened it, she almost fell from her chair in shock, a loud gasp escaping her mouth. It was the first time in her life she'd seen so many zeros attached to a number in the form of a bank cheque. She looked at Malfoy disbelievingly, but he just shrugged.  
  
"Uhm, Loretta, can you take this to Stephen and tell him to buy a new stove?" She handed the cheque to the black witch. "A decent one," she added, with a huge grin spread across her face.  
  
Loretta took the parchment unconcernedly and left for the second floor. From the corridor came her voice "Holy Merlin!"  
  
Hermione chortled merrily and turned to the young Auror. He had again that cloud furrowing his brow, as if he was deciding on something important. he seemed so far away from the carefree, relaxed man she had observed skating on the lake. Sometimes she felt as if he were two different people.  
  
Malfoy looked at Hermione intently. He needed to learn when her house was free for him to start his search, so it was time for a little chat.  
  
"I was going to have a coffee; would you like to come?" He flashed his best smile and saw her cheeks colour slightly. She looked really pretty when she did that. The alarm in his head started screaming 'danger;' he had to exile such thoughts from his mind.  
  
"Uh, I'm meeting someone at the Watercolours at six. But I guess I've got time for a quick coffee."  
  
He nodded and headed to the exit. Why did it have to bother him if she was going on a date? She was perfectly free to do as she pleased. But wasn't she supposed to be Potter's girl? Was she cheating on him while he was on night duty? And why the hell did he care? Draco kicked himself mentally and walked silently by Hermione's side. They turned on the bend to Linseed Alley, entered the café, sat at the bar and gave their drink orders to Molly.  
  
"Hey, would you like some coffee with your sugar?" Hermione offered while Draco dispensed the sixth spoonful of sugar into his coffee.  
  
"Granger, stuff your mouth with chocolate cake; you know you're dying for it." She stuck her tongue out at him and turned to take a sip from her cup, and he chuckled at how easy it was to tease her.  
  
"So, you're going on a date tonight?" He tossed the question casually, peering at the coffee menu he already knew by heart.  
  
"Uh, oh. Well... sort of." She was shocked by Malfoy's sudden interest for her personal life.  
  
"I'm just going to the cinema with Ginny Weasley. A Muggle thing." Not that he cared a bit, but she somehow needed to make clear she was not going out with a man.  
  
"Ginny Weasley?" He turned to face her; the corners of her mouth began to turn upwards. He smiled back; why did he feel so relieved? He now knew he had the coast clear to start his search. But it wasn't that. Again, the tingling sensation spread through his body, and he couldn't help but notice how her eyes were the same colour of the chocolate cake she always longed. Sweet and warm chocolate eyes.  
  
Hermione felt heat rise to her cheeks as his intense gaze bored holes in her eyes, and for a fleeting moment, she had the mad feeling that Draco Malfoy cared.  
  
"You're already here! Good." A freckled face appeared in front of her.  
  
Hermione greeted Ginny, who took a seat next to her and began rambling about her horrible day at work. She didn't notice the blonde man seated next to her, so Draco stood up and put on his coat. He had all the information he needed; he needed to hurry to investigate Hermione's place while she was at the movies with the Weasley girl.  
  
"Well, I've got plenty of things to do. Granger, Weasley." He stood up and began heading for the door.  
  
Ginny did an exaggerated double-take when she recognised him. "Malfoy?"  
  
"He was accompanying me while I waited for you to come. We were having a coffee," Hermione said timidly, while her friend surveyed Malfoy through narrowed eyes.  
  
"As I said, I'm quite busy, so I better get going. Goodbye."  
  
"Malfoy, wait. I'd like to ask you for a favour." Ginny called after him. He turned round and looked at the redhead with an arched brow. What could the Weaselette possibly want from him? he thought.  
  
"You are working in the same Auror department as Harry," she said.  
  
Of all the things he could have expected the redhead to say, that was not one of them. "As much as I try to forget it, yes, I do."  
  
"There's this concert of the Weird Sisters on the 14th, you know, Valentine's day." Draco could not figure where all this was leading but kept listening curiously.  
  
"Since Harry's on duty that very same night... " Ginny continued. "He would never ask you for a this, considering you hate each other." No fresh news about that.  
  
"So?" Draco asked.  
  
"I was wondering if you could change shifts with him so he can go with me to the concert," she said tentatively.  
  
Something then clicked in Draco's mind. Hermione was not Potter's girl; it was Weasley. But Potter had suggested he was dating Granger, hadn't he? He had been taunting Draco. The four-eyed tricky bastard, Malfoy thought.  
  
"I'll see what I can do," he smirked and left for the exit, taking a mental note to make sure Potter was on duty on the 14th. Now it was time for treasure hunting.  
  
"Good Gods!" Ginny slumped on her high chair. "I hate to say it, and Harry would kill me if he ever knew, but Draco Malfoy is hot!" She took a paper napkin and began fanning herself.  
  
"Yeah, I guess so," Hermione said absently.  
  
"You guess so? Has overworking yourself finally melted your brains?" Ginny snorted. Hermione sat silently, making small swirls of coffee with the spoon.  
  
"What's up, Hermione?" The redhead adopted a concerned tone, since it was pretty clear there was something worrying her friend.  
  
"I have a problem. One big, blonde problem."  
  
Draco had looked in the whole dining room; every corner and cupboard in the kitchen; in, out and about the bathroom.  
  
Nothing under her bed; he had looked twice. He sat on it and opened the first drawer on her night table, a light chuckle escaping his lips. Trust Hermione Granger to have a copy of Hogwarts, A History for light night reading. In their school days, he had seen her many times hidden behind the enormous book in the library; she must know it by heart by now. He opened the second drawer; an old hand mirror with a carved wooden frame and a comb, together with some sugarfree candy wraps.  
  
Draco leaned onto the bed, staring at the mauve covers of the four-poster, unmistakably a reminder of Hogwarts dormitories. He chewed on his lip, recollecting all the possible places he could have missed in which Granger could have hidden the agreement with the goblins.  
  
No, it must be concealed under a spell, but which one? He had tried Finite Incantatum, Accio agreement, Revelarus... She was a clever witch; this could take him months to discover. Draco fingered the Perpetrus stone he had brought to counteract the petrifying spell cast on the flat's door, lost in thought. There was a delicate scent of jasmine floating in the whole bedroom. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath; it smelled just like her. He wondered if her thick chestnut curls were impregnated with the same soft aroma.  
  
Crookshanks leaped onto the bed, rubbing lazily along Draco's form and purring softly. When Draco had entered the apartment, he'd feared the cat would become aggressive with the intruder. After all, he had heard rumours back at Hogwarts of the viciousness of Granger's half-kneazle and how it usually jumped on anyone he disliked, claws outstretched. Why it had followed him through his search, meowing and rubbing his legs, he could not discern. Crookshanks seemed to have taken a liking to the young wizard.  
  
"You're quite useless as a guardian cat, you know?" Draco scratched the ginger feline on the back of its ears.  
  
Suddenly, he heard the noise of a key entering the flat's door. He quickly got up from the bed and reached for his invisibility cloak, straightening the bed covers. Hermione and possibly Ginny had entered the penthouse.  
  
"Shhh! We don't want them to know I'm here, ok?" Draco whispered to the cat. It turned round and left the bedroom with his bottlebrush tail held up, as if it had understood the instructions perfectly.  
  
"Oh, would you stop laughing?" Hermione's voice came from the sitting room.  
  
"Sorry, Herms. It could have happened to anyone, you know. I bet the driver in the car didn't notice," she giggled.  
  
Draco heard steps approaching the bedroom. He was invisible to the eye, but he could be discovered if someone bumped onto him. Panicking, he turned to the window but remembered this was the seventh floor. Before he could turn round, he saw through the looking glass standing on the wall that Hermione was entering her bedroom. Draco closed his eyes and waited for the worst to come.  
  
"Yeah, sure. I'm certain he did it on purpose. When that mad driver saw a poor girl standing on the curb to cross the street, a big dirty puddle at her feet, he just couldn't resist the temptation to accelerate and make the 'big kahuna.'"  
  
Draco opened his eyes and peered at Hermione's reflection. She was soaked from head to toe, dirt splashed across her clothes. A smile started forming at the corners of his mouth but stopped mid-way when she took off her cloak. She proceeded to do the same with the mud-stained cashmere jumper.  
  
Close your eyes; you're not supposed to see this, Draco thought. But his eyes, instead of closing, stayed widely opened as she fingered the first button of her blouse and tugged it open. Tum-tum, his heartbeat hammered in his chest.  
  
"So, what do you intend to do with your problem?" Ginny's question came floating through the corridor. Second button done. Tum-tum, Draco could feel the drumming somewhere near his mouth at the sight of her creamy skin.  
  
"I intend to do nothing. Besides, there's nothing I can really do." She unbuttoned the third and fourth, revealing a pink lace bra under her blouse. When she had finished with the last button, she turned to the drawer and took out a red t-shirt and a blue one, and a pair of jeans from the wardrobe.  
  
Close your eyes. Close them right now! Draco's mind screamed. His heart was thumping so hard he feared Hermione could hear it. It's not as if this is the first time you've seen a woman undressing, he scolded himself, to no avail. His eyes were glued to the girl in the mirror, and he watched her as she removed the rest of her garments. Her body was like the dunes in the desert, curvaceous, warm, inviting. Draco balled his hands into fists and dug his nails into the palms, now sweating.  
  
"You can let him know how you feel." Ginny appeared at the doorframe. "The red one; it suits you best."  
  
"Oh, sure, that's so very easy." Hermione slid the red fabric over her head and proceeded to change into the jeans.  
  
"You're seeing him almost on a daily basis. There must be plenty of opportunities."  
  
"Yeah, let me see. Malfoy, will you pass me the sugar? By the way, would you mind kissing me senseless so I can finally get over this obsession with you? Wow, I guess that'll impress him," Hermione spat sarcastically. They were so engrossed with the dispute that none heard the slight gasp coming from the other end of the room.  
  
"You're hopeless. What makes you think he doesn't feel the same?"  
  
"Well, he doesn't. He left that point pretty clear," Hermione frowned. "And why are you so eager to match me with him? Didn't you swear the Weasley's eternal enmity vow to the Malfoys?"  
  
"You're worse than Harry, you know that?" Ginny punched her playfully in the arm.  
  
Hermione sighed heavily and put on a thick woollen jacket, following her friend. When she was at the bedroom's doorframe, she turned and looked round, only to find her reflection on the mirror in the wall. Still with her gaze on her image, she took a step towards the looking glass, brow furrowed, urged by an invisible force.  
  
"Hermione! We'll be late for the cineman if you don't hurry up," Ginny protested.  
  
"I'm coming." With one last glance towards the mirror, she exited the room.  
  
"And it's cinema, Ginny." Those were the last words Draco could hear before the flat's door was finally closed.  
  
He slowly slid to the floor, his back pressed to the wall. He took the invisibility cloak off him and discarded it in the corner. This is not happening, he thought as he slid a hand through his silky hair. "This is not happening to me, not now," he groaned.  
  
"Why, why, why?" he said, banging the wall with his head each time.  
  
Crookshanks entered the room again and sat in front of the man, front paws rigid. Its yellow eyes surveyed him curiously, not blinking once.  
  
"She likes me," He said aloud, although it didn't make any more sense. The whole situation was ridiculous, for before him there was an imminent political career full of success and a marriage with a charming woman. And there he was, sitting on the floor of a two-room flat, thinking of Hermione Granger.  
  
"What am I going to do?"  
  
"Meow," was the only response from the room's other occupant, Crookshanks.  
  
Draco grunted his agreement, then added, "I couldn't have said it better myself!" 


	10. Velentine's Day

NEVER BEEN KISSED LIKE THAT  
  
Chapter Ten  
  
"Valentine's Day"  
  
A piercing scream filled the large corridors of the manor, waking her from sleep. It had been a long time since she had last heard those blood- chilling cries at night. She started from bed and put on her dressing gown, hurrying to his chamber at the other end of the house.  
  
She entered his room and found him awake, breathing ragged and looking at the ceiling with glassy eyes. It broke her heart to see him still suffering from guilt after all those years. He didn't acknowledge her presence when she sat on the bed, gently taking some strings of his silvery hair off his sweaty forehead. He just closed his eyes, inhaling deeply to gain control of his nerves.  
  
She never questioned him when he came late to spend the night at the manor. He had his own life and place in London, but whenever something troubled him, he came back home. But what was troubling him she never knew, for from a very early age, he had been reserved and secretive.  
  
"Draco," she said. The young man turned his head away from his mother; he didn't want to talk about it.  
  
"You had a nightmare again. It's been a long time." Silence.  
  
"I'm glad you're here," she said affectionately. "Not only in the manor, I mean back in England. It was time for you to stop running."  
  
Draco turned and faced his mother.  
  
"I was not running," he said coolly. His eyes were dark, and his countenance would have seemed menacing to anyone else, but not to Narcissa. She knew her son very well, including his many ways to disguise and shut up his feelings.  
  
"Did you dream about your father?" The direct question startled the blonde man, who shifted uncomfortably in the silk sheets. He didn't answer that either; he didn't need to.  
  
"I'm so proud of the man you've become. He would be p..."  
  
"Don't," he cut off whatever Narcissa had to say. "I was just a disappointment in his eyes," he said bitterly.  
  
"No, you weren't. You must stop tormenting yourself with it, Draco. It was not your fault. He sought his own death for all his wrong actions. And he gave up everything he stood for just for you to live. He would have never taken that curse if all he thought you were was a failure!" She spoke hotly, the pain of seeing a son tormenting himself for his father's death too much to bear.  
  
They sat silently for a moment. Then Narcissa spoke again, this time more calmly.  
  
"It was not your fault," she said, this time pleadingly.  
  
Draco nodded. "Yeah, I know."  
  
"No, you don't. It was not your fault," she repeated, taking him into an embrace. He didn't fight it, but just sat there limply, his head buried in the familiar scent of his mother's embrace. "You never did anything wrong," she spoke softly, as if she was holding a little child and not a twenty- four-year-old man.  
  
Lucius Malfoy was never the loving father type, yet he cared very much for his offspring, just in his own peculiar ways. He had raised Draco as an improved reflection of himself and was satisfied with the product. Their relationship was one of admiration; Draco admired his father for the power he seemed to hold, and Lucius admired the good job he had done with the upbringing of Draco. Little did he know how much his son resembled him, for, among other things, the boy had inherited a mind of his own. That had been the final cause of the rupture between them.  
  
It had begun with the younger Malfoy pointing out certain discrepancies in the Dark Lord's philosophy, doubts expressed regarding the good of his return, the inconsistency in the differences regarding mudbloods and purebloods. It all ended with Draco joining the Light side and being disowned by Lucius.  
  
The last thing Draco heard from his father was his yelling at how much of a disappointment he was the night he left the manor to join the Order of the Phoenix. The next time they met, Lucius had shielded him from the Avada Kedavra thrown by Voldemort himself. His father had given away his life for him, even if he thought he was a failure.  
  
Carrying a burden too heavy for an eighteen-year-old to bear, Draco had fled the country and applied for the most dangerous jobs he could perform. He had sought Vampires through the forests of Transylvania, wrestled giants in the Apennines, and confronted the Yeti in the Himalayas. Unluckily, he thought, he had gone through all those adventures unscratched. All that he found was a complete emptiness inside.  
  
By the time he was twenty-two, he had decided not to be a failure anymore. Somehow, becoming the man his father wanted him to be would pay for his sacrifice. He had settled down in France and made interesting connections; that was the time when he had met Isabelle. When Cornelius Fudge made his proposal during a reception at the English embassy in Paris, he knew his opportunity had come. And now, even in this task, he was very likely to fail miserably. He was indeed proving to be the worthless failure his father had proclaimed him.  
  
He clung to his mother's hug, unable to unburden himself from all the weight he was carrying. He knew she wouldn't understand it, that she would try to divert him from his resolve, so he just let himself be shielded in the silence of the room, like he was a little child.  
  
After some minutes, Narcissa left the room, leaving a sleeping Draco behind. Her shoulder was damp with tears that were not her own, and she cursed the memory of Lucius Malfoy under her breath.  
  
"Happy Valentine's Day!"  
  
"Yeah, whatever," Hermione said to a broadly grinning Stephen, who was exiting the office at the same time she arrived. "What do we have for today?" she asked Loretta, who also seemed high on the day, with two heart- shaped earrings complementing her pink robes.  
  
"You have a lunch date with Mrs. Malfoy at 12 o'clock, at... wait... yeah, an unpronounceable fashionable restaurant. I hope she's buying." She handed Hermione the piece of parchment where the appointment was written.  
  
"Paying the bill is the least I can do after all the effort she's putting in helping us, Lory. And it's not unpronounceable, it's French, La Maison Derrière."  
  
"Oooh, I see keeping in company with this wealthy boyfriend of yours is paying off," she maliciously retorted.  
  
Hermione stared at the witch with narrowed eyes. "He's. Not. My. Boyfriend. We're... we're...." She couldn't find the proper word to define the nature of her relationship with Malfoy. "Friends. That's all."  
  
"I see. But that doesn't hide the fact that you're dying to get a bit of that piece of white chocolate cake, aren't you?" Loretta sniggered and turned to her paperwork, while Hermione sat at her desk, blushing profusely.  
  
Loretta began humming "A Little Green Bag" under her breath, much to her partner's exasperation. She took the folder containing the Werewolves' proposal for the commercialisation of wolfsbane potion and shut out all thoughts of white cocoa and blonde wizards from her mind. Lunchtime arrived fast, so she gathered her things and Apparated to the restaurant where she had to meet Narcissa.  
  
The woman was already sitting at a table, elegantly clad in deep green robes. She smiled when she saw Hermione approaching her.  
  
"Good day, dear," she said.  
  
"Hello, Mrs. Malfoy." At the disapproving look the other woman gave her, she corrected herself. "Narcissa. First, I'd like to thank you for the generous donation to our cause. You're resulting in the best public relations we could wish for."  
  
"Oh, that's not much, dear. Besides, it's great to do something useful now and then; I was never cut out to be just a wallflower, no matter how rich the wallflower was. And now, what was this matter you were dealing with? Werewolf potions, was it that?"  
  
The two women passed the time talking about the affairs of the WMCA and eating luxury delicatessen. Hermione wondered how in the past could she ever have considered Narcissa a cold, sneering woman, for she was perfectly civil and nice. It was amazing how Lucius Malfoy had overshadowed the personalities of the rest of his family over the years.  
  
"Hermione?" Narcissa directed a questioning look to the young girl, who had been too lost in her musings to hear anything.  
  
"Oh, sorry, Narcissa. You were saying?"  
  
"I was asking you if you're friends with my son," she smiled.  
  
"Uh, oh, sort of. Malf-Draco and I did never get on well at school," Hermione uttered timidly.  
  
"I knew about that. But what about now? Are you... close?"  
  
Hermione felt the heat rise to her cheeks. Not as close as I'd like, she thought.  
  
"We meet sometimes, and talk, and have a coffee." And hide under tables and kiss, she added as an afterthought.  
  
Narcissa furrowed her brow, very much like her son did when thinking hard. "It's just, I feel there's something troubling him. But he's so withdrawn sometimes that I cannot reach him. I hate to see him suffering, so I thought he might have told one of his friends."  
  
"Oh, I don't really know," Hermione offered. "But I've noticed he's sometimes got that... cloud over him, as if he were waging an internal battle of some sort," she said pensively, more to herself than to the other woman. "Not always, though. Sometimes he's great fun and capable of the wittiest retorts. He's just hard to get, I guess."  
  
Hermione turned to Narcissa, who had been listening to her ramblings with a strange glint in her eye, the ghost of a smile forming on her lips. She felt embarrassment creep inside, for she might have been letting out more than was appropriate.  
  
"I think it would be better if you asked some closer friend of his," Hermione suggested.  
  
"Yes, thank you anyway. One last thing; has he ever told you about Lucius?"  
  
Hermione was a bit startled at the question, but she said, "Oh, M-Draco is a bit touchy with his past." From this answer Narcissa could deduct that was exactly what was bothering his son, but not why.  
  
"Do you happen to know..." Narcissa stopped mid-sentence when Hermione looked at her and decided against telling her. The girl was obviously interested in Draco more than in a friendly way, by the look in her eyes when she talked about him. And it was more than probable he hadn't said a word to her about his impending engagement. She honestly wished her son were not toying around with the girl's feelings, for she had taken a liking to her.  
  
"Erm, nothing. It was nothing important," she smiled, and hoped she was doing the right thing.  
  
"The usual stuff?"  
  
"Yes, please, Molly," Hermione said to the waitress of the Watercolours café.  
  
"You look tired, Hermione. Too much work?" the young girl asked.  
  
"Loads of it. Good it's over, at least for today."  
  
"Cheer up, it's Valentine's!" Molly said happily, obtaining just a grimace from her client.  
  
Hermione took the steaming cup in front of her, warmth spreading through her cold hands. It was quite a cold evening for mid-February, and she longed for spring to come. She took a sip of the warm liquid that eased all her stress away. She had so much caffeine in her system that it didn't stimulate her nerves anymore, but had the contrary effect, probably psychological.  
  
She put the porcelain cup back on the plate, only to find a small plate with a chocolate bar on it.  
  
"Molly? I didn't ask for this," she pointed to the sweet.  
  
"I know, someone left it here for you," she said brightly.  
  
Hermione fingered the chocolate and turned it to have a better look at the unfamiliar wrapping. After some seconds, a broad smile formed on her lips.  
  
"He said you might like it, and something about it helping with your chocolate fantasies, or something like that," Molly said, and turned to attend another customer.  
  
'Dentley's Sugarfree Chocolate, a magic amount of flavour, with the minor danger to your teeth' the chocolate bar wrapping said.  
  
Hermione sighed and slid the bar into her cloak's pocket. It was the sweetest sugar-free thing she had ever received, and by no other than Draco Malfoy himself. The mere thought of him made her heartbeat accelerate and heat grow inside of her. The git. Why had he given her the stupid chocolate, just to annoy her tremendously?  
  
She said goodbye to Molly and walked back home. Some passers-by looked at the girl, who subconsciously was humming with every step.  
  
Everything was perfect. Everything was the way it should be.  
  
Draco handed the pretty girl in front of him a bouquet of perfect red roses, charmed to bloom in exuberant bouts of fragrance. She smiled a perfect smile, showing her perfectly lined white teeth, and took his arm.  
  
He led her to their table at the top-class restaurant in Paris where they had had their first date. It was the perfect place for a romantic Valentine's Day dinner. He ordered for her in perfect French, and they clinked their tall glasses filled with champagne as a toast to the perfect evening.  
  
"The food is good," Draco said, more to break the unbearable calm between the two than to set up any conversation.  
  
"Oui, très bon," Isabelle said.  
  
Silence fell again.  
  
Then they walked home through the perfectly romantic Champs Elysées, hand in hand as lovers should do, not a word passing between the couple.  
  
Draco stared at the beautiful young woman standing in front of him in the balcony of her perfect bedroom. Her blonde hair curled slightly at the ends, framing her petite face. She looked back at him, her full red lips slightly parting. Everything was perfect; she was perfect.  
  
He leaned in and touched her chin, bringing her lips to him. Her mouth was warm and soft as he pressed it more firmly to his. For a fleeting moment, he opened his eyes, only to find blue eyes staring at his own. He swiftly backed away, his gaze still fixed on her.  
  
"Are you ok?" he asked.  
  
She looked unsure for an instant, and then flashed one of her perfect smiles, that didn't reach her eyes. "Why Draco, everything is perfect."  
  
"Everything is perfect," he echoed, his arm falling limply at his side. She held her smile expectantly, waiting for him to say something to break the awkward moment.  
  
"Look, I have to go back to England tonight. I'm sorry, but tomorrow I've got some early work to do and..."  
  
"Yes, me too. I have a meeting with Monsieur Charot, the wedding planner," she cut him off. "Lots of things to do too."  
  
"I'll be back on the 27th, to make the public announcement of our engagement." She slowly nodded in approval. "Well, I must go now."  
  
"I love you," she said quietly to his back while he was opening the door.  
  
"Yeah, me too," he replied before going outside. He missed the sad, long sigh Isabelle released as the door the shut after him.  
  
Draco took a cigarette out of his pocket and lighted it, savouring the spicy taste of the smoke. It helped to ease the tension he didn't know that he was holding. With one last glance to the building he had just exited, he hurried down the Parisian streets. Perfection did not exist. 


	11. Chasing Granger

Disclaimer: Do you really think that if I owned Harry Potter I would be writing fanfics? Try again. I would probably be drinking a mojito in a lost beach in the Caribbean, getting a tan.

A/N: Thanks to everybody who reviewed so far, it really means a lot to me. This chapter title is based on one of my fave films by Kevin Smith, 'Chasing Amy'.

I'd like to say sorry to all those liver-lovers that are out there... but yuk, I really hate the stuff.

Have fun reading! constructive criticism is more than welcomed.

**NEVER BEEN KISSED LIKE THAT  
  
Chapter Eleven  
  
"Chasing Granger"  
**  
He closed the door with a loud bang that angrily echoed through the marble- floored corridor. He was seething with rage and the need to break something; anything to get rid of the nervous tension the meeting had left.  
  
Breathe in, breathe out, slowly. Breathe in, breathe out; his nostrils expanded with the heavy inhaling. There was no point in hyperventilating and letting some of the Ministry workers find him unconscious on the floor. Too much explaining, plus the inconvenient shame of being caught in such an embarrassing position.  
  
If only Fudge didn't make him that mad.  
  
_"Your incompetence shocks me greatly, Mr. Malfoy. I believed you had inherited the great ambition and talent you father possessed to always get what he wanted," the minister said.  
  
Draco's jaw had clenched at the mere mention of Lucius. "I suspect you didn't call me here to discuss my genetic heritage, Minister. I have to go on a mission in a few minutes," he said slowly, not letting his temper flare.  
  
Fudge took no notice and continued. "Our arrangement is showing no beneficial results, Mr. Malfoy. If the task I commanded you to perform is proving so difficult to accomplish, I'll be more than willing to use other... methods to get hold of the agreement Ms. Granger has in her possession," he said maliciously.  
  
By methods, of course, he implied crashing in on Hermione's apartment by force, or even getting the information directly from her. A cold chill ran through his spine at the mere thought of what Fudge was able to do to get the document from her.  
  
"That won't be necessary," Draco said through gritted teeth.  
  
"Of course not." Fudge flashed one of his fake, broad smiles. His teeth were unnaturally white, probably due to abuse of Lockhart's Charming Smile Solution. The result gave Draco the creeps.  
  
"I'll give you one more week. It seems old Grupnik is reluctant to part from this world yet, but I doubt he'll last much longer. Not if I can prevent it." He said that last part in a whisper, smiling to himself.  
  
Without a glance backwards, Draco had left the Minister's office. The secretary, usually coquettish and talkative, bit back any comment at the murderous look on the young Auror's face and winced when he slammed the door on his way out of the Minister's wing.  
_  
One week; he had only one more week. Draco's mind raced with the possibilities for completing his task, though the answer was plain in front of him. It would be relatively easy, effective, and painless.  
  
He would seduce Hermione Granger.  
  
A dinner date would do it. It wouldn't be difficult to get a late drink in her apartment. A drop of Veritaserum, a night of confidences; it would suffice to make her spill the location of the agreement. Later, he would disappear from her life, and she would be free to hate him forever.  
  
Easy, effective, and painless, the words echoed in his head, odd and distant. He was such an arrogant prat, he thought. With a heavy sigh, he resolved to accomplish the task as soon as possible, and forget about the rest.

* * *

Draco reached the Auror department and spotted a messy, black-haired head in the distance. Perfect. Some healthy, abusive bickering with Potter was just the best way to get rid of all negative energies.  
  
"Hey, Potter. You look a bit greenish this morning. Something you ate, perhaps?" He feigned a preoccupied look while addressing the young Auror.  
  
Harry threw him a testing look. "I knew it was you behind this," he pointed at the waste bin, where a chocolate muffin lay with only one bite taken.  
  
Since their adventure with the man-eating, psycho, carnivorous plant, Draco had taken notice of Harry's aversion to liver and had consequently added it to his long 'Things to Annoy The-Boy-Who-Whined' list. It had been so easy to change Potter's breakfast muffins with some liver-filled ones that he only regretted not being present at the glorious moment Harry had a mouthful of his prank.  
  
"I don't know what you're talking about," Draco lied, approaching Harry's cubicle and leaning on one of the shelves with a smirk on his face. He would have added a sarcastic and quite humiliating comment he had in store for the occasion, had not he become momentarily speechless.  
  
She had decided to dress up a little bit, since she was paying a formal visit to the Ministry. Well, that was one of the reasons. After a short trip to the magical patents department to establish the conditions for the sale and reproduction of wolfsbane potion, a quick visit to the Auror Department was compulsory. Just because Harry was there, of course, because Harry was her friend. It had nothing to do with the fact that she might be encountering the startled blonde ogling her that very moment.  
  
His gaze slid from her high-heeled boots all the way up her legs, to her close-fitting black wool dress, to end looking straight into her caramel eyes. From head to toe, she was the devil's temptress, and Draco happened to be the unfortunate demon. Bloody hell. She was the last person he needed to see right now, and even less looking that damned pretty.  
  
"Granger," Draco finally drawled, managing to get hold of his composure. Now, if he could tear his eyes from her legs, everything would be perfect.  
  
"Hello, Malfoy," greeted Hermione, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. Just the man she wanted to see.  
  
Harry cleared his throat, for the other two seemed to have completely forgotten his presence. And they were in _his_ cubicle.  
  
"Want some water, Potter?" Draco turned to face the raven-haired man. "I do believe we must get going in about ten minutes, and I don't suppose you're wearing that," he gestured toward Harry's robes.  
  
"No, I brought some Muggle clothes. I just have to change, and you must be doing the same, too," Harry said.  
  
"I've already changed into my undercover clothing." The blonde lifted his robes a bit, revealing a pair of the newest model of Nike trainers and faded Levi's engineered jeans.  
  
"Posh even in disguise, Malfoy," Harry snorted. Then he turned to Hermione, who had left her sitting position on his desk. "Sorry, Herms, we've got work to do."  
  
"Now, Potter, hurry up and let's have fun," Draco sneered.  
  
Harry took a bag from his desk, presumably containing his undercover clothing, and said goodbye to Hermione. He left with a last glare at Draco, who opted to ignore it.  
  
Draco turned and directed his steps to his own cubicle without a word to Hermione. He was still mad at Fudge for giving him an ultimatum, and he was also mad at Hermione for making everything complicated. If she weren't that damned bright, he would have stolen the agreement without a problem a long time ago. But no, she had to appear just now with those sexy high boots, and he wasn't prepared to deal with her right then, when his brain wasn't working properly.  
  
"Malfoy," Hermione called after him, but he acted as if he had not heard. This was not exactly going as she had expected, but she didn't really know what she had expected, either. The man was driving her insane; one day kissing her, a moment later implying he was not attracted to her, and then leaving her a silly little chocolate on Valentine's day and messing everything up all over again. Of all the men in the whole universe, why did she have to like him? It wasn't as if he were a Greek god.  
  
She reached the cubicle into which he had disappeared and found him taking off his robes, revealing the Muggle clothing underneath. The blue t-shirt accented the azure tint in his grey eyes, like cold steel. Maybe he was not a Greek god, but he was too good-looking for his own good.  
  
Draco Malfoy was like a difficult book, and Hermione loved books. She wanted to read him, to translate him, to reveal his mysteries. If only she could reach him.  
  
"What?" he spat. He didn't intend to sound that harsh, but suddenly Hermione's presence was unnerving him.  
  
"I... You, you look younger dressed like that," she said, wondering what she had done to receive such an unpleasant tone.  
  
"I _am_ young. Let me remind you we're just the same age. We were in the same year at school, Hogwarts, remember?" His temper was rising dangerously, and he would be exploding very soon if she didn't leave. He turned to his desk and began opening the drawers in search of something, anything not to look at her. Why was she still there, anyway? Didn't she know that he was just a bastard that wouldn't hesitate to take advantage of her to get what he needed? Didn't she know he'd hurt her? Didn't she know he was not worth a fraction of her time? She was a bright witch, for Merlin's sake!  
  
"I _do_ know... it's just, I... dargh!" His demeanour was making her lose her patience. "I just wanted to thank you for the sweet you left for me in the Watercolours the other day."  
  
He slammed shut the last drawer and turned to her. "It was just a stupid chocolate bar, Granger," he said sadly. It didn't matter that the stupid, sugar-free chocolate had reminded him of her, that he had carried it for a week not daring to give it to her, that he had pictured the amused look in her eyes when she received it, or that he had dreamed of tasting the sweet traces of the chocolate on her lips. It only mattered that he had been stupid enough to give it to her, and now she was thankful, and it wasn't right, and he felt like crap, and he wanted her just to disappear and leave him alone.  
  
"Yes, it was just a stupid chocolate bar." With that she turned and left, and Draco felt all the anger disappear, only to be replaced by feeling miserable.  
  
He sat down and hit the wooden surface of the desk with his forehead. Shit, why did I wake up today? He thought. After several moments, he stood and grabbed a jacket, hurrying to the elevators, chasing Granger.

* * *

Hermione fumbled in her bag for the car's keys, mumbling incoherently. "Stupid git... Stupid chocolate... Don't know why I care..." Her hands were shaking with anger, so it was good that she didn't need to put the key in the lock to open the car.  
  
"Granger!"  
  
She turned and saw Malfoy approaching her from the telephone box that served as the Ministry's entrance. Opening the door in haste, she entered the car and inserted the key into the ignition.  
  
"Please." Draco was tapping at the windowpane and looking at her pleadingly.  
  
She closed her eyes and counted to five before lowering the window and looking at the man kneeling there.  
  
"What the hell is this, Granger?" Draco surveyed the car curiously.  
  
"It's a car, Malfoy," she said coolly.  
  
"I know what a car is. This is not one; it's... weird."  
  
"It's a Beetle, and it's not weird! Did you come just to make fun of my car, Malfoy?" she spat.  
  
Draco leaned closer to the window and looked at her seriously. "No. I'm sorry."  
  
"Well, I know some people find Beetles ridiculous cars, but I happen to like mine very much."  
  
"No, Hermione." She looked at him with wide eyes. He had called her by her first name, like that day on the frozen lake.  
  
"I mean, I'm sorry for acting so rude before. I was angry, and you came across my path." Draco felt that was the truth; for he hadn't been mad at Hermione but at himself for being weak and sentimental. Hopefully, it had only been a momentary weakness.  
  
"Oh, that makes me feel better. Do you have anything more to spit out or can I just go?" she said sarcastically.  
  
"No more spitting."  
  
"Fine," she cut.  
  
Neither of them moved, though. Hermione gripped the steering wheel with both hands, her eyes intently fixed on it, Draco's intently fixed on her. The silence was unnerving.  
  
"Did you like it? The chocolate, I mean," Draco blurted. Hermione turned her head and eyed him cautiously. He felt himself going pink and cursed his fair skin mentally.  
  
Was Draco Malfoy, heir of the Slythering pride, world's official pain in the ass, blushing? Or was it the reflection of her red car's painting? Either way, her anger started webbing away while she examined his flushed features, deciding whether she wanted to slap him or to kiss him senseless. He was such a git.  
  
If she only knew the twists she provoked in his stomach every time she looked at him. What was it he wanted to ask her? He had already forgotten.  
  
"I don't understand you," she said serenely. "And I think I never will. What do you want from me, Draco?"  
  
He was not expecting _that_ question, that was for sure. What did he want from her? He wouldn't mind if she said his name again, he had never realized it sounded so good, or was it her saying it?  
  
"I... I want..." Draco snapped his mouth shut. This was not time to voice his wants. There was one thing he needed from her, so he broke her gaze and gathered his resolve together. The faster he did this, the better.  
  
"Uh, Granger, would you like to dine with me? We can, um... continue with this conversation then." He gave her his lopsided half-smile that he knew worked wonders with the opposite sex.  
  
Hermione was stunned, and before any rational thought could take possession of her brain, she heard herself agreeing. Fantastic, next she will die her hair blonde and start a career as professional cheerleader. It didn't matter she had obtained a total of eleven outstanding NEWTS, her brain was finally, irrevocably melting down.  
  
"Tomorrow night, then?" he asked. He needed at least one day to brew some Veritaserum, for its sale was strictly controlled, and he didn't want to attract attention by purchasing it anywhere else.  
  
She sighed, knowing it was useless to pretend she was still annoyed. "Tomorrow I'm attending a charity dinner for St. Mungo's fund for the investigation of magical maladies. They're raising funds for things such as the reversal of permanent memory loss and the cure for werewolf bites. You know, Remus Lupin is an important member of the WMCA, so I cannot miss the event."  
  
"Wednesday, then?" Draco suggested.  
  
"Got a date with Narcissa and the drunkard witches tribe. Care to come?" Draco quickly shook his head and looked at her as if she had sprouted another bushy head.  
  
"Okay, I think Thursday evening is free for me," Hermione said amusedly.  
  
"Night duty, and no, no one will trade shifts with me. Don't ask why," Draco groaned. If he had known that to get Granger on a date required planning this far in advance, he would have asked her out a month before.  
  
"Well, it seems we're rather busy people," she chuckled.  
  
"Friday is my last offer," he said in a mocking tone. "Take it or leave it, woman."  
  
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Friday's all right, then. Now move before I repent and run down you with my car," she said as she started the engine.  
  
"That's a menace from someone proud of driving a bug," he sneered.  
  
"Repeating the most popular phrase ever to refer to you," she smiled brightly. "Sod off, Malfoy." With a last wink in his direction, she steered the car out onto the street and disappeared in the busy traffic of the city.  
  
Still chuckling, he turned to the Ministry's entrance, where Harry stood looking at him disapprovingly. Draco raised one pale brow questioningly.  
  
"If you hurt her, you'll have to answer to me," Harry said.  
  
"Mind your own business, Potter."  
  
"Oh, but this is my business, mind you. Hermione is my best friend, and don't think I didn't notice how you look at her."  
  
Draco looked at the black-haired man curiously. "What do you mean?"  
  
"If you don't know, then you're thicker than Crabbe and Goyle put together, and they were rejected for the driver post of the Knight Bus, you know." Harry shook his head sadly.  
  
Draco frowned and followed Harry into the underground station from which they had to begin their investigations. The sounds of people coming and going reverberated through the narrow, tilted corridors, but only one thought ran inside Draco's head. How do I look at her? How do I look at Hermione Granger? 


	12. The Way I Look at You

Disclaimer: I own a t-shirt that says 'Get a Clue', but that's as far as I went with the HP realm. The rest is all JKR's.

A/N: Angst alert! Angst alert! Last chapter ended with something the lines of "how do I look at Hermione Granger?" (Draco). Well, I hope this serves as explanation.

**NEVER BEEN KISSED LIKE THAT  
  
Chapter Twelve  
  
"The Way I Look at You"  
**  
Hermione looked at her upside-down reflection in the metal spoon. Her curls seemed to stay in place, tucked behind her head in the informal braid that Ginny had done.  
  
"You must show your neck to let him know you're accessible. I saw it on a programme on Harry's TV," she had said, and Hermione had thought it certainly made sense if Draco were a hungry lion and she the innocent gazelle designed to become its prey. But that changed completely the sense of 'dinner date,' of course. "Besides, it's sexy," Ginny had continued, so Hermione had let her do her hair, and she must admit that she had done a good job, too. Leave it to Ginny to put the National Geographic documentaries to such use.  
  
"Would you like something to drink, Miss?" The waiter woke Hermione from her musings, and she set the spoon down.  
  
"No, thanks; I'm waiting for someone." She had been on time, for once in her life, at the Muggle restaurant where Draco had chosen to meet her. It had been a pleasant surprise, though, for she had taken his choice as a means of compensating for all those years of deprecation towards the non- magical realm. And he had good taste, too, for the place was magnificent.  
  
She looked through the window; Malfoy had reserved the best table, from which she had a perfect view of the darkening sky and the glowing streetlamps. He was late, fashionably late she supposed, as he was just one for such effects.

* * *

_Look at her; she's checking out her reflection on a spoon. Useless; she's just as beautiful as one can be. She's put her hair up. I like it; it shows the flawless skin of her neck.  
  
She's dressed up for dinner. She's dressed up to dine with me. She's dressed up for me. She's beautiful, and that's for me.  
_  
_The waiter is asking her something; probably if she wants to order dinner. He's checking her out and she's not even noticing. He didn't even look her in the eyes, the pig. Good, he's gone now.  
  
I look at her, too. That's what Potter said. Though Potter also says the Chudley Cannons are the best Quidditch team ever, and they needed more than a hundred years to play a decent game. He says so only because the Weasel plays Keeper for them, so maybe he's just a fool.  
_  
Except that it was true; he did look at her. Draco stood hidden in the dark depths of an alley just in front of the restaurant he had chosen –a Muggle restaurant –where they couldn't be recognised if seen together. Stealthy business required privacy, after all.  
  
He put a hand in his pocket and extracted a tiny bottle filled with a clear liquid. Veritaserum, freshly and illegally brewed. Snape would be proud of the skill of his second-best potions student. Draco lifted his eyes to the woman by the restaurant's window; she had always been the first.  
  
A pair of feet across the street, inside that restaurant, sat at a table he himself had booked two days ago. Hermione Granger was waiting to be lied to, tricked into an illegal truth serum, and robbed of one of her greatest achievements by none other than Draco Malfoy. If he could only take the first step to get there.  
  
He fingered the bottle nervously and looked back to the window. His breathing was shallow and his heartbeat accelerated.  
  
_Isabelle. Tomorrow, we will be officially engaged and start a new life together. Tomorrow, none of this will matter anymore.  
_  
It wouldn't count as cheating if he seduced Hermione. After all, it was a question of business, a last step to take towards the life he was destined for. He closed his eyes and invoked an image of the blonde girl that would soon become his wife. He pictured her French pouty lips and caramel-brown eyes. Only Isabelle didn't have brown eyes. Her image slipped in his mind like water between his fingers, to be replaced by that of a woman with soft curls bouncing down her back, her musical laughter echoing from a corner of his memory. The coldness of the transparent liquid across the glass surface of the bottle in his palm brought him back to reality. A wave of sickness invaded his stomach.  
  
_Tomorrow, Hermione will hate me. Forever.  
_  
He leaned onto the wall and rested his forehead on the red bricks; he could feel his blood pulsating through every vein in his head. His mouth was dry and his jaw clenched in anger.  
  
_I can't. I can't do this to her. I can't do this to me.  
_  
Draco laughed. It was not comical or amused, but scratchy and sad, as all revelations of defeat are. He couldn't hurt Hermione Granger, because he... he...  
  
"Draco?"  
  
Draco turned so quickly he almost broke his neck, his heart in his mouth, beating madly. Hermione stood in front of him in the obscured alley, her eyes angry and worried at the same time. He remained immobile, unable to utter a single word.  
  
"Were you planning to come into the restaurant sometime?" she asked.  
  
He opened his mouth to answer, and then closed it again. He had no answer; he didn't know. He didn't know anything anymore.  
  
Hermione furrowed her brow, perceiving something was wrong and troubled behind those stormy eyes. "Are you ok? Why are you looking at me like that?"  
  
And Draco knew he had no need to ask how he was looking at her. He had known all along, even if he tried to deny it. His treacherous heart had long ago recognised the truth as it was, and there she stood in front of him, like a vision of an oasis in the desert for the lost and thirsty traveller. That's how he looked at her, so he dropped his gaze to his feet, unable to bear it any longer.  
  
"How did you know I was here?" he asked softly.  
  
"Your hair stands out like a firefly in a ball of moths, you know. I saw you from the window." She pointed where she had been sitting at the restaurant for the past half hour. "Shall we go in?" she asked, if only to break the apparent tension. He didn't answer back. Though it was a simple question, his brow was constricted, as in deep and painful thought. He was starting to freak her out, with his strange demeanour and the wild glint in his eyes. He looked like a desperate man.  
  
"No," he said huskily.  
  
"No? Well, let's talk here, then, I don't really care." She looked at the gloomy alleyway, packed with brown cardboard boxes and dirt. Probably not the best of places, but she had an unfinished conversation with Draco Malfoy, and she would have it, even if it was at hell's backdoor.  
  
"Look, I don't want to talk right now." He looked at the street to his right; people were passing under the yellowish light of the streetlamps and the shops' bright neon signs. He wanted to run and hide among the mass of unknown passers-by and never look back.  
  
"Oh, now you don't want to talk." Hermione glared at him. He was doing it again, making her go crazy with his indecision. "But _I_ do want to talk, see, and you're going to listen," she said, her temper flaring.  
  
"Go home, Hermione."  
  
"What?" She looked at him, shocked.  
  
"I said, go home." He said each word slowly, with a strange calmness that did not match his apparent anxiety. "Go home, work, find a boyfriend, and forget about me."  
  
She stared at him open-mouthed. "What?" she asked again.  
  
"You heard me."  
  
"Yeah, what's next? Get thee to a nunnery? Marry a fool? What are you, the tormented prince of Denmark?" Her words were harsh and spiteful, rising into a loud, angry pitch.  
  
"The Prince...?" Draco was thoroughly confused with her words. He just wanted her to stay away from him, free from his devious intentions. But send her to a nunnery? She must be mental.  
  
"Oh, never mind!" Her arms up flew in exasperation. She took a deep breath and fought back the prickly feeling starting behind her eyes by blinking several times. "Why did you ask me out?" she said with a small voice.  
  
"I..." He looked at her face. She was fighting back the tears, he could tell. He felt miserable, for he was the cause of her present state. "Never mind. I just... I thought it was a good idea, but I... changed my mind, see?" Each word was painful as a rock weighing down his chest, each lie making it more difficult for him to breathe. "You're a very nice woman, but I don't want you to think that there's something between us... Well, it's not you, it's me..."  
  
His words died in her lips, for Hermione had taken him by the collar of his white shirt and slammed his mouth shut with hers in a passionate kiss. Shock, warmth, his heart beating, softness, guilt, remorse, Isabelle, Hermione.  
  
_Hermione_.  
  
A thousand thoughts flashed in Draco's mind before surrendering into her tight grasp and winding his hand through her braided hair. It was not a gentle kiss but needy, brutal, a release of long pent-up emotions. It was lips and teeth, tongue and moans that escaped into the other's mouth.  
  
All caution and purpose thrown to the wind, he embraced her tightly with his free hand by the waist, melting into the sensation of completeness that rushed over him with her proximity. He felt something slipping down her cloak as he clung onto her with his fingers and heard the distinctive sound of glass breaking.  
  
That did it. Draco opened his eyes with a start and pushed her away. The bottle of Veritaserum lay broken at her feet, like the unspoken truth of his defeat. She made no sign of having noticed the broken glass in the heat of their kiss but stood defiantly with her swollen chin up, the glint of passion still dark in her eyes. A surge of hatred invaded his veins, for her, for himself, and for the cursed life he was living.  
  
"So," she said, breathless, "there's nothing between you and me, and everything was just a product of my imagination, hm?"  
  
Draco stood silently as the watery concoction slowly slid along the floor, dirt swallowing the stupid plan he was too cowardly to follow. Numbly, he watched his carefully designed life slipping through his fingers.  
  
"Lie to yourself as much as you want, _Malfoy_, but don't lie to me." She stressed his name with spiteful accusation.  
  
"Don't you dare to tell me what to do! You know nothing, nothing!" he yelled back at her. "You stupid, filthy..." Draco closed his mouth and gritted his teeth together painfully.  
  
"Mudblood? Is that it?" she said with a strangled voice. "Well, I guess some things never change, Malfoy." She turned on her heel and walked away from the alley and onto the street, out of his life.  
  
He closed his eyes and leaned onto the wall for support with trembling hands.  
  
_Congratulations_, he thought bitterly, _mission accomplished. She hates me.  
_  
It took all his willpower not to go after her. Their paths were never meant to meet, and now it had happened, they must inevitably diverge. Watching her go felt as if one part of his life was leaving too; one important, irretrievable piece of his life.  
  
Now he had to fight to maintain the rest of the falling pieces of his existence.

* * *

Snif snif... angsty feelings are overwhelming this poor author. 

Well, for those faithful readers that are patiently waiting each of the chappies i have both good and bad news. I've already written till chapter 14 (that's the good news) and will be posting in the following days, after some edditing. The bad news is that I don't know when I would be able to update again, maybe a month or so on, so I hope you stay tuned... I intend to end this story, so no worries in that department. THANK U ALL!


	13. Happy Birthday, Isabelle

Disclaimer: Don't sue me, you know this is all product of JKR imagination, and I'm just borrowing!

A/N: Woah, when I started this story I intended it to be 10 chapters long, but it seems it's got a mind of its own. Not that I care, for knowing you readers enjoy it and leave wonderful reviews makes it worth it.

If you've read Melissa D's "We'll Always Have Paris" (strongly recommended to D/Hr shippers, it's wonderful) you'll find certain similarities with my Isabelle and hers, but I only made up this character because the way she is because she's necessary for the story, and her name comes from a French pen pal I had long time ago.

Well, thanks and ejoy the reading!

**NEVER BEEN KISSED LIKE THAT  
  
Chapter Thirteen:  
  
"Happy Birthday, Isabelle"  
**  
He stepped out of the fireplace to be greeted by a pair of angry grey eyes matching his own.  
  
"Where have you been? I thought you'd never arrive on time. Do you know what time it is?"  
  
Draco avoided his mother's gaze and walked towards the bathroom. "I'm going to take a shower and dress up," he said.  
  
Narcissa eyed her son carefully and drew near to him. Lifting his pale chin with her hand, she took a look at his avoiding face. There were blue circles under his eyes, and he looked as if he had slept in his clothes, which were Muggle.  
  
"What's wrong, Draco?" she asked.  
  
The young man looked at his mother and smiled sadly. "Nothing, mother. Everything's ok. I'm just a bit tired," he lied.  
  
"The reception starts in one hour, and Isabelle has been asking for you the whole day. You were nowhere to be found. I think she's quite anxious about the whole engagement announcement." She sighed and looked at the young man in earnest. "Where have you been? You were supposed to come directly to Paris last night, and instead you arrive not one hour before the whole event, looking like a complete mess." She was not using a patronizing tone, but rather one of concern.  
  
"I... I was thinking," he finally said. It was not false, for he had been wandering through London all night, fighting not to drink himself into oblivion and making up his mind. He had never really taken the time to admire the Muggle part of the city, his steps echoing in the deserted streets. Morning had surprised him crouched under the shade of one of the lions at Trafalgar Square, a Warming Charm keeping him from freezing. Watching tourists feeding bread chunks to the pigeons, he had lost track of time, only to remember when his stomach had growled audibly from hunger.  
  
Not that all the thinking had led him to any conclusion. He was even more confused than the previous night.  
  
"I lost the Portkey I had booked, so I had to Floo here. You know how crowded it is at the international hub, so it took me quite a while. I'm sorry; I'll be ready in a few minutes."  
  
Narcissa nodded and let him go, but her heart clenched with worry. She had only seen that same forlorn look in her son's eyes once, the day Lucius had died.

* * *

"And then she said, 'If you ever want people to take you seriously, you must keep a professional and serious appearance,'" Ginny said in fake falsetto.  
  
"Yeah, bet she thinks lime green robes and fuchsia-coloured nine-inch nails look very professional," Hermione snorted.  
  
"You've no idea how much I wanted to make a snide remark, honestly. But it's less than two months, so I better shut up and let her go on with her ramblings, or else I'll end up strangling her gold-covered neck." Ginny made the movement of her hands squeezing the life out of an imaginary person. "Thank Merlin she's out for the weekend. If I had to hear her once again boasting about how she was _invited_ to a reception at the French Embassy, I would have resigned from work."  
  
"Oh, Gin, don't be so mean. I guess she was just thrilled she was finally actually invited to an event, instead of having to bug her way in," she snickered.  
  
"Yeah, that's right, though I don't really think the French Minister of Magic personally invited Rita Skeeter to his party. She just happens to be engaged to one very influential businesswizard, who by chance is invited to the event."  
  
"Want some more stracciatella ice cream?" Hermione was spooning the remnants of the one gallon bucket they had been feeding on.  
  
Ginny patted her belly and shook her head. "No thanks. I think I've had enough ice cream and chocolate for the rest of my life. There's nothing like burying your frustrations under half a ton of sweets." She regretted the words the moment they left her mouth, for the look on Hermione's face suddenly changed, and she let the spoon fall into the ice cream. "Sorry," she added.  
  
"It's ok, Gin, it's not as if I didn't see it coming," she sighed. "Who was I kidding? He's Draco Malfoy, after all. Time passes and people change, but some things remain always the same. Besides, it's not as if there was anything going on between us, really." She waved her hand dismissively. "Just a few shared moments doesn't make a relationship... It doesn't mean that I... in such short time... " She took a deep, shaky breath and looked up, not wanting the tears to spill.  
  
"Hermione." Ginny reached to her friend and hugged her, patting her curls softly.  
  
"I feel so stupid," she choked. "For a fleeting moment, I felt, I saw... I thought he felt the same. I've made a fool of myself."  
  
"Don't say that, Hermione," she withdrew from her friend to look her in the eye. "The only fool here is him, if he can't tell a good thing when it's in front of him."  
  
"Thanks Ginny, you're a good friend." Hermione wiped a treacherous tear away and smiled at the red-haired girl. "Now go, I know you have a date with Harry, and I don't want you to be late because of me. I'll be ok, just go and have fun."  
  
The other girl lifted herself from the couch and put on her cloak. "All right, but if you need anything don't hesitate to owl me; I'll be here quicker than you can say Snitch."  
  
Hermione rolled her eyes. Why did everything have to relate to Quidditch with the Weasleys? When the other girl left, she promptly stepped into her pyjamas and resumed her place by the couch. She had tons of chocolate; Top Gun, Casablanca, and Pretty Woman waiting to be cried over; and a furry tabby cat to stroke that worshiped its owner. Was there any other better plan for a Saturday night?

* * *

"Oh, cher Draco, mon fil! Lovely reception, isn't it?" Greeted Mr. Durand with his full-sized politician smile. He grasped Draco by the arm and took him aside.  
  
"Where's my soeur? I 'aven't zeen Isabelle ze 'ole evening, and you've been late too. What are you two playing at? Giving ze Minister a heart attack, hm?" he said in an undertone. "Bonsoir Mme. Maxime, vous êtes très élégante ce soir," the Minister said enthusiastically to a huge witch Draco remembered from the Triwizard Tournament.  
  
"You better go looking for 'er, for I will be making ze announcement of your engagement in zirty minutes. Ah, the British Ambassador 'az chust turned up," he said, looking over Draco's shoulder.  
  
"Parfait, parfait. It'll be ze ideal occasion to start talking about future alliances, now zat you're going into politics too. Bon, don't look at me like zat; did you zink Isabelle waz going to 'ide such a secret from 'er own fazer? Don't worry, I wont zay anyzing yet, but it'll be extremely beneficial, you being married wiz my daughter. Allez-toi, find Isabelle!" He pushed Draco aside and opened his arms in welcome of the British diplomat.  
  
Draco turned and almost bumped into a grinning witch with jewelled spectacles that looked faintly familiar. He had no time for pleasantries, so he scurried past her and went looking for Isabelle; after all, he wanted to talk to her, despite her annoying father's orders. He had an idea of where she could be, so he pushed his way towards the less inhabited branch of the Presidential Palace.  
  
He had been right, for he found her leaning on a balcony on the third floor, the furthest place from the reception downstairs. She was gazing at the clear, cloudless sky, the pale light of the moon reflected in her features. She looked stunning in her pale blue, strapless robes. It was then, looking at that beautiful woman by the balcony, that a decision was made.  
  
He felt a wave of apprehension invade his insides before walking to her. "Isabelle," he called.  
  
Isabelle turned on her heels, startled. Her eyes were red and puffy, and she was clutching a white, wrinkled handkerchief in her hand, twisting it nervously.  
  
"Draco!" she said, not moving from her position. Then, calmer, she added, "I meant to talk to you, but I couldn't find you anywhere."  
  
"I know. I wanted to talk to you too." He took a deep breath; dread spreading through his very core while the next words formed in his mouth. "Isabelle, I think we shouldn't marry."  
  
That was it; he had finally said it. He waited for her to explode, to yell at him, to try to convince him, to slap him, even. He was not at all prepared for her actual reaction, when she flew into his arms and started crying. He just hugged her back, unsure how to act. Isabelle had never been this emotional with him normally, but this was not a normal situation, after all.  
  
After a few minutes, her sobs subsided and she pulled back from him. Her face was stained with tears and her make-up ruined, but she was smiling at him.  
  
"Isabelle, I'm so sorry. I never wanted to hurt you." Draco started.  
  
"Shh, shh, it's all right, Draco. I understand," she hushed him, passing her hand through his hair.  
  
"No, you don't. I wanted this to work; I thought I needed it."  
  
"No, Draco, listen to me. I don't want to marry you." She looked at him with her large blue eyes full of sincerity.  
  
He blinked and opened his mouth to retort something, her words still processing in his mind. "You don't... you don't want to marry me?"  
  
Isabelle shook her head. "I know we're perfect for each other, and that we get on very well, but... I'm not prepared for a long-term commitment."  
  
"I see," he said dumbly. He was still in shock.  
  
Isabelle placed her hands on his shoulders, and he circled her waist unconsciously with his arms, a familiar gesture they had repeated so many times. "I wanted it to work, but there was always this feeling nagging at the back of my head. Like..."  
  
"Like there was something missing," he finished.  
  
"Exactly."  
  
"How long?" he asked.  
  
"I don't know," she shrugged. "I guess it's been going on for more than a year. Then you returned to England, and it got worse. I discovered another life, a new world full of possibilities, and I found myself missing you less and less every day.  
  
"These years with you have been fantastic, and I still love you. But now I think it's time I lived my life on my own; I guess it's just what I must do."  
  
Draco nodded. "I feel so stupid. I should have known how you felt. I guess it wouldn't help to say I'm an insensitive git," he smiled. "I still care very much for you, you know, even if we don't belong together."  
  
"I know Draco. I don't think any of us wanted this."  
  
They fused in a tight embrace, sharing with each other the feeling of goodbye and the hope of a new beginning. It was a sad moment, but each felt content in the arms of the person they had shared so much with for so long.  
  
"I'm sorry I'm not in love," Draco said croakily into her head.  
  
Isabelle lifted her hands and cupped his face, bringing it level with hers. "But you are, Draco Malfoy," she said softly. "Only it is not with me."  
  
The significance of her words struck him like lightning, his eyes widening to the size of saucepans. He had never given name to the pressing feelings in his chest, and now here was the girl he was supposed to marry, telling him what he had kept denying all along. "How did you...?" he managed.  
  
Isabelle pressed her full lips into a fine line, her thin brows furrowed. "I don't know. The look in your eyes; you had that strange light that was not there before. I could feel it in your kiss, too, like your sentiment was somewhere else."  
  
He closed his eyes in contrition. "I'm sorry, Isabelle. I didn't, she's not what you think..."  
  
"It's ok, Draco, I don't want to know." She let down her arms and separated from him. "We must get going."  
  
"Who's going to tell your father?"  
  
"Oh, I guess I must. Don't want you to live as a eunuch for the rest of your life," she smiled.  
  
"No, we definitely don't want that."  
  
She pulled out her wand and scrubbed her face clean of the remaining tears and mascara. With her hand on his arm, they descended the stairs together towards the Reception. At the base of the staircase, he turned to her and gave her a reassuring smile.  
  
"Ready?" he asked.  
  
She merely nodded, and they proceeded to the ballroom. "Draco," she clasped his arm tightly.  
  
He looked at her and knew what she was asking for, before entering a new phase of their lives. He leaned in and took her lips in a final, goodbye kiss, pouring in all the feelings and moments shared together, along with his eternal thankfulness for the girl that had shown him what he wanted in his life.  
  
They entered the ballroom together, everybody facing the scenario at the far end of the room. A short, stocky man with an open grin stood there, the French Minister of Magic, in the middle of a speech. His grin widened when he caught a glimpse of the couple entering the room.  
  
"Uh-oh. Non, papa." Draco heard Isabelle murmur under her breath. It was already too late for that.  
  
"Ladies and Zhentlemen, witches and wizards," he said in his magically amplified voice, "let me introduce you to my daughter, Mademoiselle Isabelle Durand, and her fiancé, Mr. Draco Malfoy." He paused for effect, the oohs and aahs booming through the room. "May zis engazhement be an example of a large and long-lasting alliance wiz our sister country, England."  
  
Draco and Isabelle immediately became the spotlight, the crowd surrounding and congratulating the couple. She took a firm grip on Draco's hand, and they moved to a corner of the room, disappearing into a door leading to the kitchens.  
  
"Young love, zey're so temperamental," Mr. Durand said to the assembled group of guests.  
  
"You can leave from the back door," Isabelle said to Draco when they reached the kitchens. There was a large cake covered with pink icing; some elves were giving it the last touches.  
  
Draco stopped short, making Isabelle stumble behind him. "I almost forgot. Happy birthday, Isabelle."  
  
She gave him a small smile and eyed the gigantic cake.  
  
"I can stay, and we can sort this mess out together," he offered.  
  
"No, I prefer you to go. It'll be much easier to explain if you're not around. You know how he is; he'll try to put all the blame on you. He had many expectations of his own about, you know, us," she said sadly.  
  
Draco opened the door and peered outside. A slight breeze tumbled across the trees; the night was clear and cool.  
  
"Don't Apparate until you're outside the garden, the guards are up," she smoothed the creases in his robes. Draco merely nodded and walked towards the gates.  
  
"Draco!" she called after him. He turned one last time to see Isabelle standing by the service door. "Make her happy, will you?"  
  
"I'll try," he sighed.  
  
"You'll have to do more than try. Just follow your heart." She smiled at him one last time and disappeared behind the door.  
  
Follow my heart. Funny, Draco thought. I'll just try to see what is left of it. He Disapparated to the International Hub with a loud crack.  
  
The weather conditions were extremely different in England from France. While in Paris the temperature was somewhat cool and dry, all hell was breaking loose in London.  
  
Even though chilly rain was pouring in buckets from the sky, Draco went walking from his house to Hermione's apartment, to provide him with some time to think what he wanted to say.  
  
He was frozen and soaked to the bone and still clueless as to how to proceed. What the hell, he was completely, utterly terrified. He had reached his destination. 

................................................................................................

A/N: Evil cliffhanger, I do know, but well... writing Draco always makes me feel a bit mischievous.

Oops, a chocolate chip cookie for the one who knows where I took this line from: "These years with you have been fantastic, and I still love you. But now I think it's time I lived my life on my own; I guess it's just what I must do."


	14. FEELING CALLED LOVE

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, but I have the biggest collection of plastic earings you've ever seen. I know, I know, they'll never make me rich... but well, at least they're mine.

A/N: This is the chapter we all have been waiting for... written and eddited many many times. It's been a draining experience, a cathartic moment. Well, you get the idea, don't you? I really hope you like it.

For visual support, check my gallery at deviantart (as I'm hopeless to link directly, see my FF user page and go from there.) You'll find illustrations to this story, to make you see how I really see this couple. It's worth it to have a look, I think.

Oh, and the cookie goes to... **PureSunshine**, who was the one who identified the line from "Don't you Want me", from Human League. Am I the only one out here into 80's music...? ok, I'm a freak, then.

HUGE THANKS to all the people who has reviewed this far, you're an incredibly nice lot... making me grin from ear to ear and blush with your comments. You really make all this writing more enjoyable. Now on with chapter 14!

_... Don't you want me baby, don't you want me Ooooh.... ;D_

**NEVER BEEN KISSED LIKE THAT  
  
Chapter Fourteen:  
  
"F.E.E.L.I.N.G. C.A.L.L.E.D. L.O.V.E."  
**  
Draco ran his hand through his soaked hair nervously. A small pool was forming at his feet from all the rainwater dripping from his clothes. He stood still in the carpeted corridor, in front of A-1, Hermione's door.  
  
He was cold, terribly cold. But that was not the reason he wasn't moving. A thousand questions were still pounding in his mind.  
  
Was he giving up? Was he giving up so effortlessly after all this time? For what, a Muggle-born witch? Was he throwing away his political career? For someone who would probably hate him after he told her everything?  
  
Yes.  
  
As simple as that, he was going to throw away all his carefully planned life. And why? Because it was right, and he knew it. He'd always had that damned voice in his head, nudging him to do things, even if sometimes it pissed him off. Some people might call it a conscience, but Draco preferred to refer to it as 'the annoying little voice'.  
  
That same voice was telling him that this was what he wanted. Not what was right, or what should be expected of him, or what others had wanted for him. _He_ wanted this.  
  
He lifted his fist to knock, couldn't make himself do it, and let it fall. He'd have to explain everything to her, from Fudge's plans to him entering her apartment. Besides, he would have to deal with the Minister himself, for he was a cracked, dangerous man that wouldn't stop his craving for power even if Draco turned against him. But that confession was not the one terrifying him.  
  
He'll have to tell her about his feelings for her.  
  
He gulped and, with a final air of resolution, lifted his arm again. He never managed to knock.

* * *

Hermione turned off the TV and tightened the quilt around her.  
  
_The room is cold and has been like this for several months.  
  
If I close my eyes I can visualise everything in it right down  
  
Right down to the broken handle on the third drawer down of the dressing table.  
  
And the world outside this room has also assumed a familiar shape_  
  
_The same events stuffed in a slightly different order each day.  
  
Just like a modern shopping centre.  
  
And it's so cold - yeah it's so cold.  
  
_Crookshanks moved, rubbing past her on the couch to the front door. He turned to his owner and started meowing and scratching the wooden surface of the frame.  
  
"Crook, I can't let you out. Not tonight. It's pouring outside," she said, pointing at the rain-washed window. The cat kept meowing incessantly in protest, pacing up and down in front of the exit.  
  
"All right, but don't think I'm letting you in if you come back all soaked and dirty." She went to the cat and lifted its ginger body in her arms. "Take a walk in the corridors, and I'll get you a tin of tuna for breakfast, hm?" She petted its furry head and opened the door, and then all coherent thought fled from her mind.  
  
Draco Malfoy was standing by her door, one arm raised, as if he was about to knock.  
  
He stood motionless, his arm still up, his eyes locked on the girl in front of him.  
  
"D-Draco?" It was not a question, but a confirmation that she was not imagining him standing by her door.  
  
All the rehearsed speech he could have prepared in his mind faded; he would have been lucky to remember his own name. Every possible meaning and explanation was in front of him, in the form of Hermione Granger.  
  
Crookshanks leapt from her arms unnoticed and rubbed at Draco's feet, purring. The young man watched as the cat disentangled itself from his legs and walked gingerly down the corridor, disappearing round a corner.  
  
"You're soaked to the bones." She opened the door the rest of the way and let Draco in, before disappearing into another room.  
  
She was barefooted, Draco noted, wearing only white silk pajama bottoms and a cotton t-shirt. He closed the door behind him and waited for her, standing in the sitting room.  
  
_And as I'm standing across this room  
_  
_I feel as if my whole life has been leading to this one moment.  
_  
She reappeared, carrying a fluffy towel that she rudely threw to him. Her first shock at finding him at her door was slowly disappearing, only to be replaced by a boiling anger.  
  
"What are you doing here?" she asked curtly.  
  
The towel lay limply in his hand, and he made no attempt to use it to dry himself. He swallowed hard and calmed his nerves. "I... I lied."  
  
Hermione arched her brow, surprised by this blatant declaration. He was doing it again, turning her world upside down, but this time she wasn't going to let him. "Ok, you lied. Good, you've said it, you can go now." She couldn't meet his eyes as she said these words, or her resolution would disappear.  
  
"I want to stop running." He didn't know why he had said that, but it made sense anyhow.  
  
She lifted her head and eyed him curiously. "And what are you running from?"  
  
"Myself," was his answer.  
  
"Oh." For the first time since he had entered her apartment, she looked at him, really looked at the man standing in front of her. There was a different air surrounding him that hadn't been there before. His stormy eyes were pleading desperately for her to listen to him. She was so mesmerized by this sudden aura that she could not bring herself to speak.  
  
Her silence encouraged him to continue. "You were right. I've been lying to myself, and what is worse, I've been lying to you."  
  
_And as I touch your shoulder tonight this room has  
  
become the centre of the entire universe.  
  
So what do I do? I've got a slightly sick feeling in my stomach,  
  
like I'm standing on top of a very high building, oh yeah.  
_  
His words made her knees weak, while her stomach turned with anger and nerves. She couldn't let herself get lost in this game. "What are you playing at? Do you think you can come here and tell me you've been lying to me and then everything would be all right? Was that what you expected?"  
  
"No. I just want you to listen to what I have to say." His grey eyes were so intense they bored holes into hers. Her brown pools made him want to drown and trust her with his deepest fears and desires.  
  
"All right, explain," she stood defiantly. "And when you're finished, I want you to leave."  
  
"I understand," he nodded, and searched in his mind for the words he needed to say in order to tell her everything. It was blank, completely blank. Being so close to her made him unable to gather any coherent thought. To hell with the rehearsal speech; he had to do this from inside his heart, not his mind. He let his eyes wander through the dimly lit room, to finally settle on the windowpane, rattling with the heavy rain. When he started to talk, he didn't know where the words were coming from or why, just that it was something he desperately needed to tell her.  
  
"I was destined to be the improved version of Lucius Malfoy," his voice was calm and distant, and she felt a shiver run down her spine.  
  
"When I was a child, I used to think he was a kind of god; powerful, respected... feared. Then I grew up and started seeing things from a different perspective; my own. Of course, he immediately despised any point of view different than his, so troubles started. I couldn't bring myself to live up to his expectations.  
  
"The day I discovered I would always be a failure in his eyes, no matter what I did, was the day I stopped trying. I made my choices without considering the consequences. I didn't realise then that turning against him would place us at opposite ends of a life-or-death battle.  
  
"The day Lucius died." Draco stopped, closing his eyes to the pulsing hurt, for memory is pain, trying to resurrect itself. "The day my father died," he continued, "something died inside of me, too. He sacrificed his life for me, the son that had disappointed him, the son that he had claimed was no longer his."  
  
Hermione regarded him with misty eyes. She could tell it was the first time he was voicing all these things, and that it was painful for him. Though she could not comprehend why he had chosen her to spill his heart out to, or what it had to do with their situation, she listened to him in silence.  
  
"I started running away from the feeling that pressed down on me since I saw my father fall in front of my eyes. It was of no use, of course, for guilt is not something you can hide from." Draco let his gaze shift to his hands, avoiding Hermione's stare.  
  
"As there was no point in running away from it, I decided to succumb instead. To prove his sacrifice hadn't been to an unfaithful son, I decided to become the man my father always wanted me to be. I had to wash my guilt away becoming powerful, respected..." His forehead was just above Hermione's, drops of water falling from his hair into her face as she closed her eyes. "... Cold," he continued, "heartless."  
  
"Draco, I don't understand..." she trailed off.  
  
"I couldn't, Hermione, I couldn't. I tried to, but I couldn't," he whispered into her hair. "But it's all right because now, I understand. Lucius didn't give up his life in hopes of changing me; he just did it because he loved me. Love was the only reason valid to fight for then. It is the only reason ever."  
  
He dropped the towel he was holding and took her hands in his. "In that respect, I guess I'm more like him than I ever knew. I'm not such a failure, after all." He felt each and every one of his words were the truth, a truth he hadn't reached till that very moment, a truth that filled his heart with hope.  
  
Hermione could hear her heart beating in her ears; there was some implied meaning in his words she couldn't grasp. "Draco, why are you telling me this? Why have you come here?" she managed.  
  
He looked into her eyes with a fierce passion glowing in them. "Because... because I don't want to run anymore, I don't want to be someone I'm not, and I don't want to lie anymore, Hermione. And... and because I... I'm in love with you."  
  
The rattling in the window seemed to be the only sound echoing across the room. But no, there was also the rhythmic sound of two hearts beating with the same rhythm, quick and hard, as two pairs of eyes remained locked in a silent conversation.  
  
"Are you?" she asked softly, her heart pounding hard in her chest.  
  
He just nodded, as shocked with his admission as she was. He was still clasping her hands, very aware of the warmth her skin emitted against his. She was making no attempt to pull back, so he leaned in instead, slowly, lowering his lips to hers. He stopped a millimetre from her mouth, their breath mingling and sending shivers down his spine, as their lips barely brushed. A little push farther and he was kissing her. He was kissing Hermione Granger for the first time, slowly, deliberately, nothing like the harsh and spontaneous encounters they had shared before. This was something more, and something definitely better.  
  
She felt light-headed as he pulled her close to him, holding her by the waist. There was no chance now that either of them would walk away from this. She deepened the kiss, reaching for the nape of his neck to bring him even closer, entangling her fingers in his wet hair. With her tongue, she explored every corner of his attentive mouth, obtaining a deep grunting sound from him. They broke off, gasping for air, only to start kissing again, desperately feeding the hunger for each other.  
  
He sucked her lower lip gently and started planting kisses down her jaw to the sensitive skin under her earlobe. She gasped and dug her hands deeper into his hair; electric bolts running from that spot to every one of her pores.  
  
"Draco," she moaned.  
  
A rush of passion overwhelmed him at hearing her saying his name while he continued to lick and nibble his way to her cleavage, tasting every bit of her skin. Her hands had disentangled from his hair and were slowly tracing their way down his neck, his shoulders, to his chest. In an instant, she pushed his soaked cloak open, and he disengaged himself for a moment to let it fall to the floor. The white t-shirt he was wearing underneath was also slick and clung to his body, framing his every contour.  
  
_All the stuff they tell you about in the movies  
  
but this isn't chocolate boxes and roses.  
_  
They stood in front of each other, panting, eyes dark from desire. She slowly raised her hands to his chest, rubbing at the slick cotton covering it. Then she trailed them downwards, never breaking eye contact, and she tugged at the hem of his shirt. Draco lifted his arms and let her slide it off, discarding it next to the cloak. He could feel heat emanating from her body and reached out a hand to cup her cheek, rubbing his thumb over the surface of her swollen lips. When they kissed again, it was wild and frantic, as if neither could get enough from the other.  
  
It's dirtier than that, like some small animal that only comes out at night.  
  
In one swift movement, he bent forwards and slipped an arm behind her knees, lifting her from the floor. She slid her arms around his shoulders and let him carry her in to her bedroom.  
  
Once there, he set her down, trailing feathery kisses down her shoulders. He moved a hand to her navel, gently rubbing the skin exposed there, tracing the hem of her pants. He grabbed at the fastening strings holding them in place and tugged at them, looking back at her for confirmation. She bit her lip and slowly nodded, feeling the silk pyjama bottoms slide down and puddle at her feet.  
  
She felt her world shifting to horizontal when, without breaking their kiss, he gently laid her on the bed, his body firmly pressed to hers. Propping his weight on one hand, he allowed himself a view of her beauty in the dim light. His other hand caressed her creamy skin, tracing her curves with his fingertips.  
  
_And I see flashes of the shape of your breasts and the curve of your belly  
_  
_And they make me have to sit down and catch my breath.  
_  
He memorized each of her features, his mouth slightly open, forming a silent word. The faint light coming from the streetlamps outside was enough for him to make out the glint in her eyes, bright and intense, focused on Draco.  
  
_What is this feeling called love.  
  
Why me, why you, why here, why now ooh.  
  
_"What?" Hermione asked.  
  
He leaned closer to her, the tip of his nose almost resting on hers. "When you look at me like that, I feel I cannot breathe," he whispered.  
  
"I Love you," she whispered back, and he felt as if he would explode from within.  
  
_It doesn't make no sense no. It's not convenient no.  
  
It doesn't fit my plans no.  
  
It's something I don't understand oh.   
_  
Those three words held the essence of his whole existence, for he knew that if she loved him, everything would be all right.  
  
They melted into a heated kiss, discarding the rest of their clothing carelessly on the floor, losing themselves into that feeling called love.  
  
_F.E.E.L.I.N.G. C.A. double L.E.D. L.O.V.E.  
  
Oh what is this thing that is happening to me. Oh. What is this feeling called love.  
  
Why me. Why you. Why here. And why now ooh. It doesn't make no sense no. It's not convenient no.  
  
It doesn't fit my plans but I got that taste in my mouth again oh. F.E.E.L.I.N.G. C.A. double L.E.D. L.O.V.E.  
  
What is this thing that is happening to me.  
  
Oh yeah, oh yeah, oh yeah, oh yeah.  
_

* * *

Draco traced small circles with his thumbs on the soft curve of her hips. Her hair was spread out on the pillow, her face turned from him, her breathing slow and rhythmic in sleep. He was lying next to her, his head resting on his open palm, watching the curve of her right shoulder rise and fall with each breath. It was still night, and the light filtering from the window tinted her white skin silver, like moonlight.  
  
"Beautiful," he said softly.  
  
She shifted and opened her eyes, turning sleepy eyes at him. "Is it day already?" she asked groggily.  
  
"No, it's only four," he said as he rested his head back on the pillow, facing the ceiling.  
  
"You're not tired?"  
  
"Is that a proposition?" He shifted his body to face her, his eyebrows arching suggestively. She giggled as a pink flush covered her cheeks. "You don't fool me anymore with that know-it-all appearance, Miss Granger; I know that underneath, you're really a wildcat," he said in his best imitation of Snape, muffling her new fit of giggles with kisses.  
  
After a minute, she pulled back to catch her breath.  
  
"Uhm, Draco."  
  
"Mhmmm?"  
  
"I've been wanting to ask you something for a while."  
  
"Yeah?" He could feel the slightest hint of apprehension climb into his chest. He knew he would have to tell her everything but couldn't make himself start and break this perfect moment.  
  
"Do you remember our seventh year at Hogwarts?"  
  
"Mhmmm," he smiled, knowing where the conversation was leading. He could postpone their talk to later, the following morning at least.  
  
"You remember that day, in the library, the first time you kissed me?"  
  
"Sure. Potter very pleasantly brought that memory back to me some months ago."  
  
"Oh, did he, really? How very nice of him" she said, not in the least delighted, while she made a mental note to beat Harry to a pulp for breaking his promise. "Oh, well, what I really wanted to ask you is... why? Why did you kiss me?"  
  
He smirked proudly in a very Malfoyish way. "Got your knickers in a twist, did it?"  
  
"Oh, you're a big-headed arrogant prat, you know?" She punched him playfully on the arm.  
  
"Yes, and isn't that exactly why you like me?" He pinned her beneath him and kissed her soundly on the lips.  
  
"Yeah, sure, but you haven't answered my question."  
  
He tilted his head back and sighed. "All right, if you want to know, I kissed you because it was wrong." At her questioning look, he proceeded, "I was in a rebellious period, turning against everything about the way I was raised. It was wrong that I didn't want to support Voldemort, it was wrong that I didn't want to be a Death Eater, it was wrong that I refused to marry Parkinson..."  
  
"Can't blame you for that," Hermione murmured.  
  
"...It was wrong that I chose to fight for the light, and it was wrong to be so devilishly handsome and irresistible." The last statement earned him a roll of eyes from Hermione. "I was challenging the expectations everybody had for me."  
  
"And was I wrong, too? Was I a product of your teenage rebellion?" She asked teasingly.  
  
"Well, it's not as if I had planned it. At first, I just wanted to piss you off; I would have never thought I was going to enjoy it. And it was wrong, you know, terribly wrong. A Slytherin and a Gryffindor, and sworn enemies, to begin with."  
  
"So you kissed me because it was wrong," she trailed off, looking into his bright, greyish eyes.  
  
"Basically, yeah. I was a fool, though, because it really turned out to be the only right thing," he smiled. "Speaking of which, if my memory doesn't fail me, you never got to rate my kiss."  
  
"Ooooh," she scrunched up her face in concentration, "it was sooo long ago, I don't think I can remember. Maybe you should refresh my memory."  
  
"I've learned some new tricks since seventh year, you know," he smirked, and leaned toward her to prove it.

* * *

A/N: **THIS IS NOT THE END!!!** It would be absolutely crappy to leave all those unresolved questions like that. It'll take me a while to post more chapters, cause I'm quite busy right now, but stay tuned for more... I warn you, stormy clouds are comming this story way... 

The marvelous song "F.E.E.L.I.N.G. C.A.L.L.E.D. L.O.V.E." is from one of my fave British groups PULP, and from my point of view perfectly describes it, don't you think? Review!


	15. Revelations

Yeah, I'm back from the land of the misinspired writers, and guess what, I bring a new chapter with me!

**Disclaimer: **I do own Harry Potter, you know. I keep him hidden in a cupboard under the stairs. Wait, no, there is no cupboard under the stairs, nor stairs to begin with... damn.

****

**NEVER BEEN KISSED LIKE THAT**

**Chapter Fifteen:**

"**Revelations"**

Hermione took a blue mug from the cupboard and poured some warm coffee into it. Not as good as the Watercolour's espresso, but it would do to wake her up. With the cup in her hand, she sat by the kitchen's bar, where she had left the old hand mirror taken from her bedroom's night table. She took a sip of the black liquid and felt it warm her insides. Setting the mug aside, she picked up her wand and, without further ceremony, tapped the glimmering surface of the mirror twice, whispering words softly. Immediately, it started glowing and the glass melted into a silver swirl.

There it was, as safe and sound as ever, Hermione thought. Rolling up her sleeve, she reached in with her hand and passed it through the now-liquefied glass - a concealing charm inspired by her adventures with Ron and Harry during the first year at Hogwarts and the Mirror of Erised. It was the simplest yet most secure place where the agreement of cooperation between the goblins and the WMCA had been kept all that time. She took the small, though crucial, parchment from the mirror and, with another tap of her wand, made a copy from the original document. It wasn't valid in legal terms, but it would suffice for the moment. Storing the agreement again into its hiding place, she emptied the mug's remaining contents in one gulp.

She exited the kitchen and slipped into the bedroom, quietly tiptoeing to the bedside, making as little sound as possible so as not to wake up the young man sleeping in her bed. A smile crept to her lips as she viewed the tousled blond wisps of Draco's hair, falling loosely on the pillow and over his eyes. She resisted the urge to reach out and put his fringe back with her fingers, so she tore her gaze away. Very carefully, she kneeled by the night table and opened its bottom drawer, placed the hand mirror inside, then let out the breath she didn't notice she had been holding. Secrecy was not, after all, something she had ever felt comfortable with.

The sudden pressure of something moving on her head made her spin round with a start. "Draco! You've scared me!" she cried when she realised the touch she had felt was Draco's hand, stroking her curls.

"My, my, guess who's not a morning person," he chuckled sleepily.

"You startled me; I thought you were fast asleep."

"And I was, but I no longer am. I haven't slept so soundly since... since always, I guess."

"I can tell from the drool that was trickling down your chin when I woke up," Hermione said amusedly.

"Hey!" Draco said, offended. "I don't drool in my sleep, I'm a Malfoy. I sleep peacefully and angelic-like." He ignored Hermione's snort and continued. "And it might be true, because you found me so irresistible you couldn't take your eyes off me while I was snoozing, could you?" He said with a smirk firm on his lips.

"Good morning to you, too," she retorted, leaning forward. Draco took the hint and, closing the distance between them, captured her lips into a sweet kiss.

"Good morning indeed," he said softly as he lifted Hermione into the bed with him.

"Draco," Hermione said, feebly pushing away from his embrace, "I can't stay. I received an owl from Stephen – from the WMCA – I have to go, it's necessary." He made no sign he had heard and continued nibbling her neck.

"Drac... hmm, Draco. I must go."

"Don't go," he said between kisses. "Tell them you don't work on Sundays. Tell them you've caught the flu. No, better, tell them you got yourself kidnapped by a devilishly handsome madman, and he won't let you go," he said, waggling his brows seductively. "It won't be that far from the truth."

Hermione chuckled softly. "You know I can't. It's important, really. Stephen wouldn't cut his fishing day short if it wasn't something important."

Draco sighed and looked at her earnestly, chewing on his lip. She had noticed that he tended to do that a lot, probably unconsciously, when he was deep in thought. "What is it?" she asked.

"I..." He paused and furrowed his brow, as if searching for the right words to say. "I have to tell you something important, too."

He sounded serious, even solemn, and a little bit... what was it? Afraid? Hermione thought. As he opened his mouth to speak again, a fluffy ginger cat leaped into the bed, meowing impatiently.

"Oh, Crook, my poor, hungry baby," Hermione said, cooing to her pet. "I promised you a tuna breakfast. Would you do that for me, Draco? There are some tins in the kitchen."

She rose from the bed and took her coat from the wardrobe, continuing with her hurried talk before he could actually answer. "Erm, do you mind if we talk later? I must leave now; I'm already late. We can meet for lunch, and you can tell me that important thing then. Is that all right? You can stay in bed and have some more sleep; it's Sunday, after all, and the sun has barely gone up."

"Or else, you can Floo to your house from here if you want to change clothes," she pointed to the mess of wrinkled garments scattered on the floor and blushed at the urgent way they had been removed the previous night. "Don't try to Apparate from here, we don't want any funny business, erm... just don't, ok? And, well, forget about leaving by the front door, it's got... some _wards_ too, I'll explain it to you later. The fireplace wards go up again once you've used it, so you won't be able to come by Floo again unless I'm here by that time. You must tap twice on the second brick to the left and say the password –firefly – and it'll unblock. Ok?" she said hurriedly.

Draco nodded uncertainly and watched as she got into her coat and put some folders into her bag.

"It's half past six now," she checked her wristwatch, "and I think the meeting will be well over by twelve. Maybe we can meet at the Leaky Cauldron by noon and... I'm babbling, aren't I?"

Draco nodded again amusedly, and she sat again by his side.

"I do that a lot, sorry. I just don't want you to feel I'm leaving in such a hurry because of you. I mean, I don't want to give you the impression, after last night... I'm not running away, ok?"

"I know, Hermione, don't worry. We'll meet at the Leaky Cauldron by noon." He reassured her, taking her hands in his. She smiled at this, and he gave her a sweet lingering kiss that made her feel dizzy when she got up.

"Till later, then." She took one last glance at him before disappearing through the door.

"Till later," he said back.

Once he was alone, he lay back on the bed, his lower lip firmly clasped between his teeth. It tasted of coffee and something indescribably sweet. Just like her, he mused.

He had been about to tell her everything when Crookshanks, who was now meowing impatiently for his breakfast, had interrupted them. One part of him felt incredibly relieved for the disruption, for delaying the moment to confess to Hermione all his wrongdoings behind her back. But there was no use in delaying the unavoidable; the truth would have to come out before things got too complicated. There was also that feeling at the pit of his stomach, the suspicion that not everything was all right.

With a heavy sigh, he sat up in the bed and started looking for his clothes. Lifting his trousers from the floor, his attention shifted to the night table. He hadn't been asleep when Hermione had tiptoed into the room but had been observing her every movement through his half-closed eyelids, waiting to take her by surprise. Therefore, he had witnessed her attempts to stealthily put back that old hand mirror into the drawer. There was something odd nagging at the back of his mind, so curiosity got the better of him, and he pulled the drawer open, reaching for the old-looking glass.

His own reflection stared back at him from the silvery surface, a frown etched on his pale brow. In his previous illicit explorations of Hermione's apartment, he had seen that very same hand mirror thousands of times but had never taken the time to pick it up, discarding it as unimportant. For any other wizard, holding the mirror would have revealed nothing. But Draco Malfoy was not an ordinary wizard. He was an Auror, and a damned good one. He was methodically trained to recognize and manage all kinds of situations involving magic, thus possessing what some people might call a sixth sense to perceive anything remotely magical from any person, animal or thing.

The feeling was unmistakable. Some very powerful magic was rooted in that object. Could it be the thing he had been looking for all this time? Could it have always been in front of his eyes, without his noticing? he wondered while looking at it with narrowed eyes. He retrieved his wand from the trousers' pocket and pointed it to the mirror, throwing all caution to the wind.

........

After the tremendous storm of the previous night, the morning in London had risen sunny and slightly warm, evoking the still far away spring. Hermione walked the streets with light-hearted steps, a wide smile planted on her face. Yes, it was a wonderful morning. Despite the fact that it was early and the streets were quite empty on Sunday mornings, she decided to walk to the Leaky Cauldron and take its backside entrance to Diagon Alley.

She opened the door to the meeting room of the WMCA to find its members already gathered there, all with sleepy faces. She greeted them cheerfully and took a seat, still sporting the silly grin that now seemed glued to her features. Loretta eyed her suspiciously and arched an eyebrow, but Stephen's talk prevented any comment.

"I'm glad we all managed to come despite the rough hours and being Sunday, too. You all know I wouldn't have called for an urgent meeting if the matter at hand weren't of the utmost importance." He ignored the incredulous look Loretta gave him, for whom not even Merlin himself calling at her door would suffice to make her put aside her Sunday's lie-in.

"I do believe none of you had the time yet to have a look at today's paper." He continued, as it appeared no one had, "Well, as I usually do every Sunday morning, I woke up at 5.30 to go fishing. I was packing my things and got the papers from the news owl, when I saw the Prophet's front page." He unfolded said copy and showed it to the rest of the staff, who let out a collective gasp.

"GRUPNICK THE ELDER, CHIEF GOBLIN OF GRINGOTTS, FOUND DEAD IN BED," read the tragic headline.

"He-He'd been sick for a long time now, but.... I always thought he was too stubborn to die," Hermione commented in disbelief.

"The fact is," Stephen continued sombrely, "the Prophet says there's an investigation open to determine the cause of his death. It seems doctors had been positive the old goblin would come through it this time, and then, two days later, he's found dead in bed. They're trying to look at all the possibilities."

"What do you mean? Do they think he was..." Jaime, the secretary, said uncertainly.

"Murdered? Well, there's always the possibility." Winky and Dobby flinched with fear at the mere thought of it, while the rest of the WMCA staff paled. "But that's not the main reason I called you all up here this early. I believe you brought the copy of the agreement?" he said, turning to Hermione.

"Yes, here it is."

"As you all know, the WMCA's strength has been always secured by the unconditional support we had from Gringotts. This support was made legal by means of an agreement between us and the chief goblin, old Grupnick. He really believed that someday, the wizarding world could be made a better place," Stephen said sadly. "This morning, after having read the Prophet's headline, an owl arrived from Gringotts. Now that Grupnick has passed away, his inheritor and new chief goblin, Brodick, has asked the WMCA to hand over the binding common welfare agreement for revision."

"But that can't be!!" Hermione stood incensed from her seat. "He'll break it, he's always been against our cause, we can't do that or any chance we had to push the Minister will disappear!" Murmurs of assent passed through the members assembled there.

"That's exactly why I'm sending him this non-official reproduction of the document, but I know it'll only buy us some time until he asks for the original. The agreement clearly states that any of the parties are able to end the contract of cooperation by signing out of it, but Grupnick the elder, foreseeing this adversity, made sure the one and only copy of it stayed in our hands until we managed to reach a pact with the Ministry. That's why it's been hidden all this time. Maybe it's time to find a more secure place for it."

"Hogwarts is the most safest place in the world," Dobby proposed enthusiastically.

Just then, the office door banged open and a very dishevelled Ginny Weasley appeared there, a copy of The Prophet firmly clasped in her hand.

"Uh, oh, sorry. Hermione, hi," she called when she spotted her friend. "I... Colin owled me this morning ... he said there'd been a last-minute change... just come from _The Prophet _offices" she said between gasps for air. Then she started grumbling angrily to herself "They decided to take out the article that _I_ had written, my first article published! You know how important it was for me. Not that the love life of Hags in the 21st century is worth an Order of Merlin, but well... After all the bloody research I had to make... the pictures Colin had taken, from every _possible_ angle, urgh... that trip to hell for the interview with the..."

"Ginny! We're having an important meeting here, if you haven't noticed," Hermione said pointedly, interrupting the redhead's ramblings.

"Oh, I supposed you'd be here after seeing the newspaper's headline. Sad news, yeah," she paused and looked at her friend with anxiety, "you've seen the _other_ article, too, haven't you?" At her friend's clueless face, she added, "Oh, no, you haven't. Merlin, Hermione, you're not going to like it."

"I'll be back in a minute." Hermione stood and excused herself and Ginny out of the meeting room, closely followed by a very curious Loretta.

"What's up?" the black witch asked.

"Page twenty-six," Ginny said, handing Loretta her copy of the Prophet.

Loretta opened it to the said page, and her eyes widened in surprise. Then she looked at Hermione.

"Ok, hand me that newspaper right now." Without waiting for an answer, Hermione snatched it out of the other witch's grasp and froze at seeing the moving picture on the Society section. She blinked twice in disbelief at the blonde witch and wizard that stood there, holding hands. The girl was very pretty, clad in elegant light blue robes. She was saying something at the young wizard's ear, and then they both disappeared out of a corner of the photograph. The image replayed itself again and again, under a heading reading "_Malfoy heir announces engagement with the French Minister of Magic's daughter, Ms. Isabelle Durand_._ An exclusive by Rita Skeeter_."

It was Ginny who broke the heavy silence that had fallen on the three witches. "So... he's engaged. He's going to marry. He's marrying a French! I guess that's some detail the big prat forgot to mention."

"I always thought he wasn't the trustworthy type, you know, all those sneaky glances and smirks..." Loretta continued disapprovingly.

"You must forget once and for all..."

"At least you can be grateful nothing happened..."

"He wasn't really your type..."

"Slimy ferrets are no-one's type..."

"Unless you're French..."

Ginny and Loretta continued their swearing, name-calling, and general deprecations while Hermione stood numb, hearing none of it, her eyes glued to the black and white couple pictured on the paper.

I... I'm in love with you. She heard Draco's words over and over again in her head, felt still his touch on her skin. Was it all a lie, an act, performed by the greatest cheater ever? Was it all that had happened? 

"Of course he also forgot to mention his intention to get into politics, with Fudge's support, no less. The nerve of him! And to think I was starting to consider him less hateable. Harry was right, Malfoy will always be the snobbish..."

"What!?" Hermione shouted, waking from her shock, startling Ginny out of her tirade.

"I said Harry was right..."

"No, not that. Did you say Dr..." her throat contracted painfully at the mere thought of his name. "Did you say Malfoy is going into politics, with Fudge's help?"

Ginny nodded. "It's in the article, some information Skeeter guarantees comes from reliable sources. As if! I bet she was bugging around as usual..."

A horrible sense of dread passed through Hermione's spine, like a lightning bolt; the overwhelming sensation that something was definitely wrong, very wrong indeed.

Something must have flashed in her eyes that moment, for her friends directed a concerned look at her.

"Hermione? Are you all right?"

She felt all the walls around threatening to crumble down and turn her into mush, the ground shattering to open and make her disappear into its darkness. But not now, not before she saw _him_. She turned, and without another word, opened the office's door and took off running, leaving her two perplexed friends behind.

"Uhm... I'll take that as a no. Maybe we should go after her?" Ginny asked.

"You go, darling. I'll cover for her in here."

"Ok. Thanks, Loretta."

........

Draco stood, shocked, with the agreement in his hands. It had taken him several failed tries to reconsider his capability to get anything out of the mirror. Who would have thought his knowledge of Muggle literature would tip him off to the password to the precious document? Not that he would ever admit to have read Snow White or have recited "mirror, mirror" ever to a looking glass, of course. He wouldn't admit those defamations even under _Crucio_.

Unfortunately, even _Crucio_ seemed better than what he had to face now. He finally had the key to a life of power and success in his hand but no longer knew if that was what he wanted. The things he had said the previous night to Hermione seemed far and distant, now that he had the precious parchment in his hands. Too great a temptation for an ambitious Slytherin like him.

With a deep sigh, Draco made up his mind, leaving the mirror and the agreement back in the bedside table. He went to the living room and tapped the fireplace's second brick to the left with his wand, saying 'firefly'. Before he could take a pinch of Floo powder to throw into the flames, these burned green, and a head with the most disgusting smile one can imagine appeared through them.

"Surprised, Mr. Malfoy? Have you ever considered I would confide you such a delicate mission without being... supervised?"

"Minister," Draco said dryly, scolding himself for not noticing before Fudge had followed his every movement.

"Well, well, I'm afraid I had underestimated you, Mr. Malfoy. It seems you found your own stealthy ways to get into Ms. Granger's apartment, as well as other... _domains_," he chuckled sickly.

"I guess by now you've been successful, having discovered all of Miss Granger's well hidden secrets. The agreement is now in our possession, I presume? After all, we had accorded today as the due date to hand it over, if I remember correctly. I'll be awaiting your arrival at my residence after you've cleaned up from your... _dirty_ job."

Draco felt the sudden impulse to rip the unnaturally white teeth out of the Minister with a beater club, but managed not to show his revulsion. "I am sorry to disappoint you, Minister Fudge, but unfortunately, I haven't managed to locate the document. If I could just..."

"Who do you think I am, boy?" Fudge roared irately. "Some kind of fool? Do you think this is a game that you're playing at? Do you think you can trick me, boy, turn on me as you turned on the Dark Lord?

"Boy, we made a pact, and it will be fulfilled till the end," he said in a more calm, even sweet way that made Draco's hair stand on end. "You do something for me, and in return I do something for you. This way, everyone's happy, and no dreadful accidents will happen to a certain bushy-haired friend of yours, understand?"

Draco's teeth clenched painfully; Fudge had always been power-hungry and all, but what was he talking about? Accidents? He wouldn't dare to go that far.

"Don't hesitate to think I'll dare to do it, boy. One word from me, and Miss Granger would be facing terrible consequences. We've come to the point of no return. Things... have happened. You've got the opportunity of restoring your family's pride and position; don't waste it for a nosy bitch. It's a lost cause. See you soon... Mr. Malfoy." With that, the Minister's head disappeared from the fireplace.

Draco passed a trembling hand through his white-blond hair, his breath coming out forcefully through his nostrils. He had misjudged the Minister as a fool, but now he certainly saw he was a raving lunatic. His talk had reminded him of some other disturbed, power-hungry madman he had heard before. It had reminded him of Voldemort.

There was just one thing he could do now. He went to Hermione's bedroom and came back with a determined look in his eyes. Taking a handful of Floo powder, he tossed it into the fireplace.

........

_It can't be, there must be another logical explanation_, Hermione thought, running like mad through the London streets, back to her apartment. Unshed tears were stinging in her eyes, blurring her vision. She was so distraught, she didn't even consider to Apparating back home; she'd probably splinch herself in two.

The only thing that came to her mind as she hurried up the stairs to her apartment was that Draco might be still lying in her bed, his hair tousled, and that everything was a misunderstanding. They'd surely laugh about it together later. She couldn't let herself think about the other possibility, or she'd break down. She couldn't have been fooled, cheated to that extent... he couldn't have done that to her.

The green-carpeted corridor seemed longer and longer as Hermione ran towards her door.

The door of the apartment banged open, and a very distraught Hermione stood by it, gasping for air. "Draco!" she called out.

Draco stood by the fireplace, one foot already in the gleaming green flames of the opened Floo connection. The sudden appearance of Hermione by the door, calling his name, had made him freeze in his actions, a sudden wave of guilt, shame and sadness coursing through his veins.

This flash of apprehension was noticed at once by Hermione, whose gaze travelled from his face to the object he was holding in his hand. The mirror. Then Hermione knew everything was true.

Their exchange lasted less than two seconds, but Draco didn't have to look at her again to know the betrayal he'd find there... he had already made his decision and had no time to lose.

"I'm sorry," he said and, wholly stepping into the fire, disappeared.

Hermione stood by the door, paralysed, as if her perpetrus charm didn't work right. Slowly, as if in a dream –more likely a nightmare--, she slid to the floor.

When Ginny arrived, only two minutes later, on the top floor of the building, she found her friend curled in the floor, inconsolably crying her eyes out. She keeled and reaching out, embraced her tightly, for that is the only thing one can think of when you see your best friend deep in pain for her first broken heart.

* * *

Well, that's all... for now. Don't get mad at me, but it'll take a while for me to post another chapter, for I'm moving to another country and it'll take a while to get everything in order. It's all in my head, though, safely stored and waiting to be written. I just need the time.

Have fun, it's an order!


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